Ask Me No Questions
by T'Pring
Summary: When the Air Force's Top Secret nuisance off the coast of San Francisco draws the attention of the DHS, Nancy is sent to smooth things out. The last thing she expects is a certain John Sheppard to show up at the meeting - or the Juarez Drug Cartel.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Ask Me No Questions takes place in Canon time after Atlantis has landed on Earth outside San Francisco. I was personally thrilled at the location as it gave me a chance to write an SGA story in my old stomping grounds around the SF Bay Area. The story is finished minus a last pass or two at editing, so I'll post chapters fairly rapidly over the next week as they get their final polish on. I also freely admit that there is NO position in the DHS called Director of Communication to Border Security. I made it up to suit the story. Deal!  
_

**2 Days Ago**

"I don't know how you do it, Nancy. I've spent a month on the phone with the Air Force and the Navy trying to sort this mess out."

Nancy Harrison smiled at the Director of California's Department of Homeland Security. They were walking down a long, plain hallway with tiled floors that rather made her feel like she was back in elementary school. At least the windows looking out over the marshes of South San Francisco Bay were pretty.

"That's why I get paid the big bucks, Matt." Matt scoffed appreciatively at the joke and Nancy went on, "But honestly it had more to do with the Title and the timing than any skill on my part. The Air Force doesn't pay much attention until someone at the Federal level starts talking."

"That was the impression I got, too. The Navy guys are getting their strings pulled by the Air Force otherwise they'd have been willing to sit down with us a month ago. Why is the Air Force calling the shots on this particular square footage of ocean anyway? Makes no damn sense to me."

"I have no idea either. But something happened a week ago that's got them talking at least."

"Something?"

"Something," Nancy sighed. "I can't get an inch past the Red Ink the Air Force has on that patch of ocean, but all of a sudden they were calling me and asking for meetings."

"Interesting. Well, you're the one to run that meeting and I'm glad you're here. To tell you the truth, the Air Force pissed me off and I'm not likely to be feeling very polite. We've got a thousand miles of coastline to protect here and they act like their little patch of Top Secret is the only thing out there."

"I do have a special talent with the Air Force," Nancy admitted grudgingly.

"And why is that?" Matt's voice was idly curious and Nancy wrinkled her nose at the unwise comment that had let a personal topic slip into the conversation.

"I was married to one for a while. Got good at figuring out what makes them tick. It's all about appealing to their sense of adventure."

Matt nodded, threw a mischievous smirk. "I won't consider the fact that you are not still married to this Air Force beau as evidence you have some work to do on figuring them out."

"Don't hold it against me. I figured him out. That's why we separated."

This time Matt laughed long and hard. "I understand completely. I've two exes in my skeleton closet." He winked. "They figured me out, too."

With that, they had arrived at the door to a conference room within one of the many Navy Buildings that the sprawling Mountain View, CA, Moffett Field offered. One of the other things she'd learned about dealing with the Air Force was that you had to let them feel like they were getting their way. She'd have preferred a more neutral government facility to gather in, rather than Navy/Air Force terrain. But the Air Force had insisted, claiming that Moffett had the required landing facilities for the 'special' craft their personnel had to use.

She'd suggested, oh so politely, that maybe they could arrive in a not-so-special aircraft for the convenience of the six other attendees, but the people at Peterson had hinted that if she wanted the right people at the meeting, she'd need to accommodate them. So she'd accommodated. When push came to shove, she'd rather have the decision makers at the table than some subordinate whose promises would only be overruled the second he went home.

Her primary function within DHS as Director of Communication to Border Security was to facilitate cooperation among the agencies that protected, defended, patrolled, or otherwise policed the borders of this country. There were some days she wondered if she could coordinate so much as a bake sale. When Matt had come to her begging for help, she knew this might be one of those days. She was definitely heading into deep waters. Pun intended.

The Navy Rep. was already camped in the room and she watched Matt put on his best "good ol' boy" face to meet and greet the guests. Inwardly, Nancy sighed at the glittering stripes on the Rep's uniform – dress uniform, no less. If the Navy had sent a Captain, then they'd gotten wind that this was some kind of pissing contest among branches and she was looking at an afternoon of ego and posturing.

She was just finishing her own introductions when the Coast Guard contingency arrived and she was gratified to see the local station chief himself heading up the group. She had talked with CWO Michael Perkins personally during the planning stages. She'd found him easygoing and personable. And as commander of the busiest Coast Guard station on the West Coast, Perkins had the most at stake in working around the disruption caused by Matt's "patch of Top Secret".

She greeted Chief Warrant Officer Perkins and watched carefully as the group of representatives and aides jostled for position at the table. She was left with her back to the door in the perceived "weak spot" of the room, but she'd learned how to turn that position to her advantage long ago. There was a moment as briefcases were opened, laptops were popped open and pens were pulled out. Then almost as if choreographed, the five men at the table looked up, as one, at her.

Nancy looked at her watch. The Air Force contingency was late. She risked a glance at Matt and caught his "I told you so" smirk. She was just preparing a mental list of topics they could discuss without the Air Force when the conference room door banged open behind her.

"Sorry we're late," announced a lighthearted, not-at-all-apologetic, and – holy shit! – familiar voice. "Had some trouble finding a parking spot."

Nancy froze in her seat and remained stuck while Matt hopped up and began to shake hands and murmur introductions. The Navy Captain was frowning as he waited. Nancy could almost see him calculating rank. CWO Perkins was looking interested but puzzled.

Damn him.

Finally taking a deep breath, she pushed herself off her chair and turned towards the crowd of new arrivals. The Air Force had sent not one representative, but four. To her further shock, three of them were civilians. The balding, bespectacled man was the true representative in the group she realized, summing up the deferential body language of the contingency. He introduced himself quickly as Richard Woolsey and introduced her to a Dr. McKay and then Mr. Ronon Dex.

"Hi, Nancy," Ronon said with an amused nod. "Good to see you again."

Nancy just nodded mutely back. Woolsey, however grew even more gregarious.

"Yes, of course. Colonel Sheppard warned me that you two were already acquainted." Nancy gave the man credit for keeping the statement innocent, although she filed away his choice of the word "warned" for further contemplation. "Colonel, I assume no introductions are necessary?"

Nancy couldn't delay the moment any further. Squaring her shoulders, she turned in the direction of Woolsey's gesture and looked up at John Sheppard. He also was decked out in full dress uniform, his hat tucked formally under his arm, his rakish hair slightly more rakish than usual from the hat's recent removal, his grin absolutely infuriating.

"Hello, Nancy," he said. Damn him again if he didn't wink at her. "Shall we begin?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Present Day:**

Nancy cupped her hands around the mug and hunched over the rising steam as if it were the only source of warmth in the whole world. She was cold, in shock probably. Overwhelmed certainly. She shivered and tugged the jacket that still hung on her shoulders more tightly around her.

John's jacket.

The heavy, dark blue fabric was no longer crisp and stiff. Instead it lay warm against her blouse, creased and softened by its use over the past 36 hours as an overcoat, pillow…security blanket. The rows of pins and the glittering stars on the shoulder drooped low, and the lapel was crumpled from being pulled together by clenched fists. John hadn't worn the jacket since their first hour in captivity, but his scent lingered. Nancy hadn't seen him since their captors had taken him away that last time, hours before her rescue. She closed her eyes and breathed in, almost able to imagine that he was across the room instead of a world of anxiety away.

A stir at the door to the small FBI interrogation room she was in drew her out of chilled speculation to look hopefully at the fifty-something, grey-haired and very distinguished Agent who was just entering. She could only see a little into the main part of the very tiny suburban field office, but it looked like every other underbudgeted, overstaffed government agency she'd ever been in. This office probably pushed more paper than cases, she mused. She wished they had put some pictures or something up on the blank, chalk-white walls. Her stomach was starting to turn at the sight of more blank walls.

The agent spoke a few last words to another man, then strode purposefully into the room to stand opposite the simple table Nancy was slumped over. She set her cup down and spoke first.

"Agent Barrantes, have you heard about John, yet? Did they find him? Did they get him out?"

Barrantes nodded slowly and Nancy bit her lip in reserved relief.

"The strike force managed to gain control of the compound. Colonel Sheppard was recovered about ten minutes ago." The man had a pleasant lilt to his speech.

"When will he get here? Where can I see him?"

Nancy was on her feet and halfway around the table when Barrantes raised his hands and stopped her with a gesture.

"The Colonel is being taken directly into medical care. He was pretty beat up by the time they got to him. The smugglers had started to get creative in their questioning. SWAT didn't get there a minute too soon."

"Oh my God. Where are they taking him? Can you get me there?"

"Your superiors want you to remain here until you've been debriefed."

"I don't care what they want. I want you to take me to John. Now."

Nancy poured every bit of diplomatic command she still possessed into her voice while fighting down panic. Visions of John kept flashing through her mind – beaten, haggard, hungover from the drugs they'd pumped into him.

Barrantes just stood quietly where he was, idly snapping his fingers.

"You are aware that Colonel Sheppard is involved with a Top Secret project within the Air Force?"

"Yes. He kept telling them I knew nothing about it."

"And you also are aware that he was repeatedly questioned by the cartel smugglers for information."

"I was there, dammit. I watched them take him away and bring him back in pieces for God's sake. And none of that has anything to do with taking me –."

"SO, you need to understand that not only is Colonel Sheppard being taken to his own people – most likely under high security – but also that there is a great deal of urgency around finding out what happened in the last two days and exactly what the Colonel might or might not have…revealed."

Nancy sucked in a startled breath, and put a hand on the table to steady herself.

"They think John was compromised?"

"You were there," Barrantes echoed pointedly. "You saw the results of the interrogations. Under those conditions even the strongest of loyalties can be…tested."

She shivered again and pulled John's coat tightly around herself. She didn't want to believe that. "They have no need for concern."

"Stick around for a little while and convince me. Director Mueller is on his way from the San Francisco field office himself. Convince him."

"I don't -."

"The Colonel may be too badly injured to be available for questioning for some time. You're our only witness and national security may be at stake."

"Please…"

"I can't imagine what you've been through ma'am. But the truth is – you don't really have a choice. Debriefing is SOP. I know it seems cruel to even think about asking you to re-live this horrible time, but we really need your help. Colonel Sheppard can't answer our questions and it is imperative that we learn about this cartel before they engage in more kidnapping on our own soil. Brazen bastards…"

"I don't know anything. They didn't question me."

"No they didn't." Barrantes voice grew sharp, annoyed almost. "They didn't because Colonel Sheppard kept them distracted and interested in him. Our source intel suggests that you were the target. When the Colonel came along for the ride, they got more than they bargained for and more than they could handle. We have Sheppard's people to thank for that, at least."

Nancy felt her hands begin to shake and she was suddenly lightheaded. She realized that she had assumed John was the target all along. He was the one with all the secrets, all the things to hide – even from her. She was a bureaucrat. A paper pusher. Sure, she knew some state secrets, but nothing she thought anyone would really care about. She slowly walked back to the chair and sank into it.

Barrantes was watching her closely. When she was finally able to raise her head and meet his eye again she was surprised to see a stern expression on his face.

"Colonel Sheppard may have protected you at risk of national security. It's noble and all, but my job is to make sure that those responsible are brought to justice before they can act on any information they might have acquired. With all due respect and apology – that's your job too, ma'am."

"I don't know what I can tell you that will help," she whispered. John had been protecting her. What had he told them to protect her?

"You know enough about intelligence to know that anything can be something. Just start from the beginning. Concentrate on remembering everything Colonel Sheppard said – about your captors, about what they asked him, about how he seemed to you. Was he agitated? Did he ever seem ashamed?"

She closed her eyes, drawn into remembering by the suggestion of it. John had coaxed the interrogations towards himself to keep the Cartel away from her. They'd been brutal. Could she ignore that sacrifice and allow those people to get away? Could she really make a difference just by remembering two days of watching John suffer?

"I…could, you know, make some calls, get an update on the Colonel's condition if you're concerned…?" Barrantes was hedging. She recognized the tone of a man trying hard to get what he wanted without pushing so hard she'd bolt.

"I would like that a great deal, Agent," Nancy said at last pulling herself together and bracing for the ordeal to come. "I would like any news you can get about John. And I'd like to make a personal phone call. And finally, could you bring me something to eat? I want to get this over with as quickly as possible. When we're through, I expect you to arrange transportation for me to rejoin John. I…need to see him."

Barrantes' smile was eager and just a little bit vindictive.

"I'll get on it. I can't make promises for Sheppard's people, they seemed like a stuffy bunch, but the rest I can handle."

"Thank you."

Barrantes scurried out. Nancy slumped over the table again. The coffee was no longer steaming but she took a sip anyway. She was still shaking slightly and she clutched at the cup more tightly to still her hands.

"I'm sorry, John," she whispered to herself. "I said I'd wait for you. Now you're waiting for me. Hang in there." John's expression as he walked out of their cell that last time flashed through her memory. The coffee sloshed, warming her knuckles. "Please…hang in there."


	3. Chapter 3

**Two Days Ago:**

"John! Wait up!"

Nancy slapped her notebook closed and called over the noise and bustle of the meeting as it broke up. John stiffened but turned back into the room. Ronon pushed off the wall to stand next to him looking almost like a big, friendly body guard. Make that amused body guard. He seemed to be enjoying John's obvious discomfort.

"So you're Nancy! I'm very pleased to meet you at last. Ronon's told me all about you!"

Nancy blinked and turned from her packing to find Dr. McKay standing next to her, hand extended, a wide grin on his face. She just caught John's chin drop in defeat out of the corner of her eye.

"Ronon told you?" she asked, amused herself. She shook his hand.

"You met him at the funeral didn't you?" McKay sounded uncertain, missing the implications of her question.

"Yes. We met at John's father's wake."

"Well then, there you are. I admit, considering Sheppard's usual taste in women, I'm pleasantly surprised to see that he had some sense at least once in his life."

"McKay!" John bellowed, eliciting a chuff from the chatty scientist.

"What? I'm trying to compliment the Lady, here. I think the meeting went well, didn't it? Sounds like the Coast Guard is going to stop harassing us about patrol routes and such."

"Well, your offer to provide regular – what did you call it? Sensor sweeps? – of the whole west coast went a long way towards mitigating the disruption your presence off California is causing."

"Seemed reasonable after our little encounter last week."

"Encounter?" Nancy kept her voice innocent. She'd suspected something had happened. She was still dying to find out what.

"Rodney, aren't those guys next door at the Cube waiting for you?" John interrupted McKay mildly, but there was a hint of warning in his tone. More secrets. McKay snapped his mouth shut around the answer that had been about to escape and shrugged.

"Nice to meet you, Nancy. Maybe we'll have a chance to chat sometime and you can explain to me what mental deficiency on Sheppard's part let a lovely girl like you get away from him."

"Beat it, McKay."

McKay grinned and Nancy felt quite certain that the rather odd conversation was in fact, good natured ribbing. This man was a good friend of John's. Good enough to give John a hard time over women, even. She wondered at the notion – she'd never known John to spend time with anyone who didn't fly or play sports. McKay didn't seem to fit the mold.

The doctor stood bemused for a moment before John shooed him out of the room with a thumb. Once he was gone, she was left alone with John and Ronon.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said, turning her attention fully to John. He smiled slightly at her deliberate choice of phrase.

"I guess we're even."

"You could have warned me."

John seemed to think about it for a moment, then he grinned that infuriating and oh-so-charming half-grin of his. "Nah. This was more fun."

"I'll bet it was. I could have killed you for throwing me off balance like that, but since it worked out in the end, I'll have to forgive you."

"That'll be a first."

Nancy felt a prickle of anger that she forced down with a deliberate benevolence. She'd been watching John for the past several hours as he worked the room during the meeting. She'd seen him negotiate and get what he wanted with polish and respect. As she looked at him now, she realized that he was not the same man who had broken her heart twelve years ago. It made her curious. Maybe it was too late for them to have anything but polite encounters in public situations, but she'd begun to wonder.

"You were good, today," she admitted. "In the meeting."

"Woolsey did the hard work."

"Yes, but you sold it to Captain Myers and CWO Perkins."

"Yeah, that's why Woolsey made me come. He thought there might be some translating required. I know how I'd feel if someone parked a big bus in the middle of my airspace."

"This bus of yours, you going back there right away?"

He looked at her as if it was a trick question. "I never said we lived on the bus," he corrected coyly. "But no. We got a two day pass. McKay's staying at Moffett to talk to the Ames guys and the guys in the Cube. Woolsey's heading out to Colorado for a couple days. I'll fly everyone home on Sunday."

"That's great. My flight back to D.C. isn't until tomorrow. How about dinner?" She wouldn't have many more opportunities to make her peace with John or satisfy her curiosity about who he'd become – without her.

"Uh. I was going to show Ronon around Moffett, see Hangar One and stuff, then we're driving down to Pebble Beach for a couple rounds of golf."

John was clearly backing away from the offer when Ronon stepped closer and slapped John on the shoulder hard enough to rock him sideways.

"Hey, that's OK. I'll find my own way around. You can hook back up with me tonight. We'll drive tomorrow."

"No, I promised I'd -."

"It's OK. Really." Ronon was smirking so smugly that John finally sighed in resignation.

"Dinner sounds great," he said, sounding like it would be anything but. Nancy just stared him down and his expression softened. He shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his hair. "Yeah, that would be Ok. Dinner would be OK."

"Good. I've got to call my boss and let them know how things went. I'll see you at the gates in an hour?"

"Sure."

"Why don't you call a cab. There's a place in Mt. View I've been dying to try, but I don't usually make it this far South."

"Don't tell me - French."

Nancy smiled, a little bit pleased that he'd remembered. "Yeah. You'll love it," she teased.

John blew out a deep breath, nodded to himself. "Main gate, get a cab, one hour. Got it."

"See you soon."

She left with a flutter in her chest that was half pleasure, half dread. What was she thinking? Once she'd turned the corner John's voice floated through the still-open door.

"I hate you," she heard him say.

Ronon's unapologetic guffaw followed her down the hallway.

* * *

**Present Day:**

"Just start from the beginning, ma'am."

Agent Barrantes was leaning comfortably into his chair and tapping a pen against a small flip notebook. Nancy wished she could feel that at ease. She felt jumpy, fragile, and she simply hoped she could get through each next sentence without breaking down. "You and Colonel Sheppard were together in Mt. View on personal time."

"When we were abducted, yes. We had both attended the same business meeting earlier in the day and I asked John to dinner. We were sharing a cab back to my hotel and then he was going to rejoin his friends."

"This business meeting, it involved both Homeland Security and the project Colonel Sheppard is involved with?"

"Yes."

"And did the topic of this meeting have connection that you can think of to the smuggling Cartel that kidnapped you?"

"Not directly. We were discussing jurisdiction within the coastal waters that the Air Force is currently…occupying."

"Jurisdiction meaning…?"

"Meaning which agency is responsible for patrolling and securing that area. The Air Force admitted they had detained some kind of craft that somehow had evaded the Naval Blockade. During our capture, John admitted he'd been personally involved in intercepting a submarine that apparently belonged to the smugglers."

Barrantes leaned forward, suddenly intense. "And this submarine Colonel Sheppard detained. Did he say at all where it was or where the passengers were being held?"

"I don't know. I assume it is still under the control of the Air Force."

Barrantes looked a bit disappointed and his words were a little stiff, but he tapped his notebook thoughtfully, "Our intelligence suggests that the Cartel became interested in that meeting for the same reasons the Air Force did. Once they lost their submarine, they became very interested in jurisdiction as well. As organizer of that meeting, you were identified as a target to obtain information."

"Information about how to avoid patrols and continue smuggling," she said, understanding at last. She supposed she did know a little about that, but not in detail. If they'd been hoping she knew anything about John's patch of Top Secret, they would have been disappointed. The thought made her shudder. The idea that she had been the target was still terrifying. If John hadn't been with her…

"But John was with me when the Cartel…acted."

"The cab dispatcher was paid off to report any fares matching your description. It was a long shot, but paid off for them. Anyone with you was to be eliminated."

"But John…?"

"Convinced the men sent to intercept you that he was as valuable an informant as you were. More so even."

"I didn't know…"

Two Days ago:

Nancy left the powder room and found John waiting for her on the front porch of the little house-converted-into-restaurant. He'd buttoned up his coat against the cool peninsula summer evening and his hands were shoved into his pockets in a comfortable slouch. As she slipped quietly through the door, she watched him staring into the darkened street, his expression distant and thoughtful.

For just a moment, he took her breath away, standing there like that, and she hesitated. She didn't want to interrupt him. She didn't trust herself to speak.

Dinner had been…good. Awkward and forced as she supposed it should be, but they'd found common ground. John seemed truly eager to catch up on news about old friends they still had in common. They still shared a passion for college football and she was surprised to learn that John was so isolated that he knew little about the current teams and players. They'd killed a lot of time getting him caught up.

As long as they tiptoed around the past and avoided anything that got too personal, she could almost pretend they were simply old friends catching up. She felt a little flutter as she watched him staring into his own thoughts. He'd always taken her breath away in dress uniform, she remembered – back when they'd been more than friends.

"Penny for your thoughts," she said and looped her arm into his. When he looked down at her, for just an instant, his face was absolutely beautiful. Confident, energetic, proud. She couldn't remember ever seeing him look so…right.

"I was just thinking about how different it is here. It's funny what you get used to and even things you grew up with suddenly feel so weird."

He was thinking about his work, she realized with a familiar stab of jealousy. The beautiful moment was gone and he slipped back into the charming wariness he'd worn from the moment she'd met him at the Moffett gates; a distant kind of friendliness that he wouldn't allow any warmer than politeness.

"You like what you're doing, now. Don't you." she said softly. It wasn't a question.

"Some days are better than others," he answered noncommittally.

"Right."

"Cab's here."

John shrugged out of her hold and jogged to the street to check with the cabby and open the door for her. She scooted over to sit behind the driver and let John give directions to the hotel she was staying at. Moffett was closer but he'd apparently decided to ride with her first.

The silence between them grew uncomfortable, but Nancy couldn't think of any more to say. The whole "taking the girl home" thing seemed terribly old fashioned, all of a sudden. She wanted to go to her room and call Grant. She felt every minute in John's presence only reinforced her feeling of finality. He was well and happy without her. She couldn't figure out why that should make her feel so melancholy.

John suddenly shifted in his seat and she looked up, wondering what he might say.

"We missed our turn," was what came out, softly at first, then, "Hey! We missed our turn back there!"

"I know a shortcut," the cabby called back.

"No shortcuts, senior. Turn around."

"Okay, okay." The cabbie continued to mutter in Spanish and John stayed tense, peering out the windows, then over the shoulder of the driver.

Just what I needed, Nancy thought bitterly. Street light flickered over John's face alternating between radiance and shadow. He didn't used to get ticked about cab fare.

"Stop the cab." John barked out the harsh command, startling her.

"Nothing here, man. Hotel's not far."

Nancy watched nervously as John squirmed on the seat and dug in his pants pocket. When he drew out a pocket knife as long as his palm instead of his wallet, she sat straighter in alarm.

"What the hell are you doing, John?"

John lunged over the seat, wrapped his arm around the driver's throat and flipped open the knife with a practiced flick. He pressed the blade against the driver's throat.

"I said - Stop the cab."

"John, are you crazy?! The man's right. There's nothing here. For god's sake let him go." Nancy looked fearfully out the windows, but there was nothing to see. They were in a warehouse district of some sort. The streets and square metal buildings around them were dark and completely empty. The roof line of the nearest warehouse was sparsely lined by security lights that spilled orange puddles onto the pavement below.

"Not until he stops," John growled.

"Too late, man. Just do what they say and the Lady won't get hurt."

"…what?" Nancy breathed.

The cab slowed into a gentle turn and stopped a short way down an alley between two giant buildings. John swore viciously under his breath when the sound of slamming car doors drifted to them from behind. Nancy twisted to look out the rear window and saw four silhouettes pass before the bright lights of another car parked just behind them. Its headlights were askew, shining against the metal wall outside John's door. Okay, now it was more than just John who was scaring her.

"Nancy, lie down in the seat," John ordered and when she didn't do it, he grabbed her head and shoved her down before he returned his hand to the cabby's throat. She buried her face in the sticky vinyl, finally understanding John's actions.

"Who are you?" John snarled at the cabby, speaking her own thought out loud.

"People who want our property back, sailor."

"That's flyboy to you, and what property?"

"Maybe you should ask him. I'm just the driver."

Nancy followed John's glance out the passenger window and gasped. Two faces were peering in, both with handguns leveled at them through the glass. She saw John's head droop, saw his shoulders relax as he released his grip on the driver. The doors opened and he pushed her head back down as he slid to the door.

"Stay in the car. Stay down," he told her softly, but with that same tone of command.

"But John -."

"Just do it!"

But she couldn't. John shut the door behind him and she crawled to the window to peep over the edge. John was standing just outside with his hands raised. She could hear him speaking, but couldn't make out the words. Both men with the guns were standing in front of him, aiming their weapons at his chest. She glanced back and saw the other two from the car standing just outside the driver's window – watching John.

He took another step away from the car, then another. His hands dropped as he spoke, gesturing to emphasize whatever he was saying. They went back up again when the gunmen grabbed John by the arms. He was dragged a few steps further away, then shoved down onto his knees.

One pulled his arms behind his back and fastened glittering cuffs around his wrists. John was talking the whole time. The urgency of his voice murmuring through the glass was clear and disturbing.

John must have finally said something that annoyed the men because the one who had just finished putting on the cuffs suddenly swung the butt of his gun at John's jaw. John reeled away from the blow but didn't fall over. Nancy bolted upright and slapped her hands against the glass. When he straightened, she could see his shoulders tense in anger. He said one thing more and the gunman snarled a response, cocked the hammer and put the end against John's temple.

She couldn't take any more. Bizarre thoughts flashed through her mind as she pulled on the handle and shoved her way out of the car to stumble to her feet beside the open door. Maybe they wouldn't kill him if she were a witness. Maybe she could say something to stop them. Maybe she just wanted to die next to him rather than alone in a car.

"Stop. Whatever you want you can have. Just don't hurt anyone," she heard herself saying. John didn't react. He remained rigid, facing the wall, away from her. The car headlights cast him in a strange circle of brightness, like an actor on stage. The thug with the gun turned to her.

"We want what's rightfully ours. And you're going to help us get it back."

"I don't understand. If you… If you put down your guns and tell me more I could… Maybe I…"

"You are Nancy Harrison, Director of Border Patrol?"

"Yes…yes, close enough."

"And your boyfriend, he knows something about the Naval blockade that is messing up our nice little corridor?"

Nancy hesitated wondering if she should lie and protect John by telling them he knew nothing. The man pressed his gun a little harder into John's temple while he waited for her to answer but John just scoffed.

"I told you, I'm the one you want. My ass is so Top Secret, not even my socks know what I do," John growled, the urgency still there. "She's got nothing you need."

The man just slammed his gun into the back of John's head, then cocked the weapon against his temple again when John struggled back upright.

"Stop it! Please," Nancy pleaded.

"He right? He got something we can use?" he asked her again.

"I know about your submarine," John panted.

The gunman instantly forgot Nancy and circled to face John directly. He put the gun to John's forehead.

"You know about the submarine? How?"

"I'm the…one…who pulled it out of the…water."

Nancy held her breath. Damn John for not telling her. She didn't quite understand why, but she knew she was desperately hoping that the gunman believed him.

"Your buddies Henry and Rico weren't too happy," John added staring the gunman down.

The other men shuffled their feet and the man in front of John slowly nodded. Nancy had almost decided it was going to be OK – whatever version of OK John was constructing here – when the man re-gripped the gun and smashed it one more time into John's temple. John went all the way down to the pavement and lay in a stunned sprawl. Nancy took a step towards him but was blocked.

"Get them both back in the car. Plans change. Call A.B. and tell him we're going to the backup site first. Ask him to meet us there."

Everyone began to move at once at the command and Nancy was pushed back into the car. The two with guns hauled John over and threw him in, hands still cuffed behind his back. He was moving slowly, but he got himself upright and slid close to Nancy until his back was pressing her into the door behind her. He kept himself turned towards the gunmen.

They also got into the cab, one next to John, the other in the front seat. They both twisted to keep their eyes on him. Both had their weapons aimed at his heart again.

The car started to move and Nancy began to shake. She leaned her forehead against John's back and felt his chest working around deep breaths. John felt things in his chest, she remembered, closing her eyes and losing herself in the rhythm of his breathing.

His fingers wiggled within the handcuffs, beckoning, and she slid her hand into his. He gripped it tightly and held on, even after his breath slowed and his shoulders stopped moving.


	4. Chapter 4

**Present Day:**

"I saw John talking to them when they pulled over the cab, but I couldn't hear what he said." Nancy only now knew what John must have been telling the kidnappers.

"You didn't know about the submarine until you were kidnapped?"

"No."

Barrantes sighed. "You may be Director of Communications, ma'am, but I'm getting the picture that Colonel Sheppard wasn't doing much of the communicating thing."

"No. He…They, the Air Force I mean, don't talk to anyone."

The FBI agent leaned forward, his notebook forgotten in his hands. "This project, this big secret off the coast of San Francisco – It's bigger than the Feds, isn't it? I mean, you're Federal DHS and you're as in the dark as the FBI. Why is that?"

"I don't know why, because I don't know what it is."

"Not any ideas?"

"Not even any hints."

Barrantes looked like he wanted to press further, but he held himself back and lounged into his chair again. Nancy was grateful. She was too wrung out to speculate out of idle curiosity.

"Let's continue. After the cab was intercepted you were taken to?"

"We drove for about half an hour. We were somewhere in San Francisco I think. We never crossed any bridges. They took us to another warehouse district and drove the cab right into one of them…"

**Two Days Ago:**

The cab came to a stop within the grimy warehouse and the car that had followed them from Mt. View pulled alongside. All four doors to the cab were opened at once and the kidnappers all got out. John just sat, holding her hand hard.

"Get out," the man who'd done all the talking so far said.

"Why?" John asked. Nancy was surprised at the defiance in his tone.

"Shouldn't we do what they ask?" she whispered for John's ear alone. He ignored her and continued to glare from his spot.

"Get out or I kill the girl."

A gun was cocked on her side of the car. The click echoed through the concrete and metal warehouse, amplifying its insistence.

"_John."_

"You kill the girl, you get nothing out of me. And your boss'll be pissed. I'm not getting out until I've got a guarantee we're both making it to the other side of the building."

"You get no guarantees. I'm risking my neck as it is with you."

"Then I'll wait here for your boss." John relaxed and lounged in the seat like he was settling in for a wait. "He can ask me all about the 30 kilos of poppies I found on that sub through the window for all I care. Interesting connection there. Don't usually see Afghanistan's finest making it all the way to the states. Especially through a Mexican cartel."

From the tense silence outside the car, the information was being considered carefully. Nancy suddenly understood what John was doing – he was dribbling out little bits of intel to keep them interested and let them know he was valuable. Too valuable to kill or annoy. He didn't need their guarantee, now. He'd just written it for them.

"Get out of the damn car!"

John waited one more beat, then sighed dramatically. "You're right, Nancy. Maybe we should do what they say." He shoved her out her side then slid out behind her.

She blinked in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the rather small warehouse. It was completely empty with only the main hangar door open to the night behind them. A row of office doors were set into the opposite wall and they were marched towards one of the few without a window.

John was surrounded by three of the men so she didn't get a good look at him in the light before they were shoved into a small office. It was also completely empty. The space wasn't any bigger than an average size bedroom and had recently been painted a dull white that looked sickly green under the industrial lighting. The concrete floor felt cold through Nancy's low heeled pumps.

John nudged her with an elbow until he'd guided her behind him, planting himself between her and the thugs at the door. He looked around the room and nodded haughtily.

"I suppose this will do. Tell your boss I'll wait here for him."

The door slammed shut and John immediately went to jiggle the knob, a tricky maneuver with his hands still cuffed behind him. From his disgusted kick at the frame, she guessed it was locked. Nancy wrapped her arms around herself, on the verge of shuddering again.

"What do we do?" she said, mostly just for something to say. John had started prowling the edges of the room, half pacing, half exploring.

"We wait," he growled. "Ronon will look into it when I don't make it back to Moffett. McKay can find me anywhere."

"But how long will that take? How will they find us?"

John didn't answer, just kept restlessly moving.

"John…"

"They'll find us. Just let me handle them and do what I tell you. Like staying in the damn car, for example."

"I couldn't just… !" He finally turned to look at her directly and her retort froze on her lips. John had a bright cherry-red welt around his left eye that would soon be a nasty purple. He was sucking on the corner of a swollen lip. She hugged herself even tighter.

"Are you alright?" she blurted out, then realized too late she sounded pathetic instead of demanding. _She couldn't just let them hurt him like that._

He stared at her for a minute, then moved close. His elbows worked like he wanted to reach for her. He leaned close instead.

"I'm fine. They're just trying to scare us."

"It's working."

"Don't let it. We'll get out of this, I promise. They've made a big mistake. My people will find me."

"How?" She knew she was repeating herself, but the answer would help her feel better. John just smiled slightly.

"I can't tell you. Now, help me get out of these cuffs."

Before she could say 'how?' again, John had bent over and was awkwardly stepping over the cuffs to get his hands in front of him.

"Take one of the pins off for me. A long one." He turned and stepped closer for her to fumble off one of the colorful bars that decorated a wide patch on his jacket. He'd earned so many more ribbons than the last time she'd seen him in dress uniform. There'd been a time when she'd memorized each one and its meaning.

He took the open pin from her and jammed the sharp point into the keyhole on the cuffs, then wandered away again, fiddling as he walked.

"Why didn't you tell me about the submarine?"

"It was classified 'Need to Know'."

"Oh. You couldn't tell an entire room full of people with the highest collective set of security clearances in the country, but those thugs outside the door needed to know?"

John just shrugged, continued his pacing and picking. "No, the thugs outside the door needed me to tell them. They already knew."

"Well, I'm feeling like at the moment, I kindof needed to know that a smuggling operation was functioning off the coast of California."

"We told the DEA."

"Oh."

"Didn't think they'd come looking for their sub once the DEA started breathing down their necks."

"And that's exactly why I keep reminding you people that the best national security is communication! The politics and territorial crap over intelligence has got to stop. If you had just told us what is going on maybe we wouldn't be sitting here in a warehouse waiting for smugglers to show up and scare us again."

"They knew we were meeting at Moffett. They knew the agenda had to do with coastal patrols. They knew where to look for us and who to look for, Nancy. The problem here isn't with lack of communication – it's too damn much. You've got a leak somewhere."

Nancy sucked in a sharp breath. She hadn't thought of that yet. How _did_ they know where John would be? Or who he was?

Before she could find a reply, John grunted in a satisfied sort of way and quickly unbuttoned his coat. She just stared in shock when he shrugged it off and dropped it around her shoulders. The left cuff was open at the hinge and dangled off his right wrist. He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up his forearms then began fiddling with the other lock.

"How did you do that?"

"Got lucky. Cheap cuffs."

She pulled his jacket around her and felt the residual warmth seep into her shoulders. The comfort lulled her back into the shocked stupor and she forgot to be angry. Instead, the memory of John handcuffed and on his knees with a gun to his head kept flashing into her mind.

"What happens next? I mean, what will they try to do…to us?" She tried to keep her voice steady, but it shook ever so slightly.

"Right now the guys outside are calling their boss and trying to figure that out. They weren't expecting us together. We'll be OK for a while as they check out my ID and confirm who I am."

"But what then?"

"The longer they take, the closer my people get."

"You're so sure about that? I mean, what if Ronon doesn't do anything until morning and by then our trail from the restaurant will be cold and…"

"You still watch too many cop shows."

"John."

"OK, I'm sorry, but you gotta understand. Stuff like this happens all the time. Ronon won't wait. They'll be on it at the first sign of trouble."

"All the time?!"

"To me it does."

"My god, John…"

"The point is, I trust my friends."

Nancy saw in his face that he believed that. She just didn't know if she trusted…him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Present Day:**

"How long were you in the warehouse?"

"Hours," Nancy sighed. She'd been bored, exhausted, scared. John had finally gotten the cuffs off completely and went from there to working on the lock at the door. They hadn't talked much. He seemed completely intent upon his efforts, and she couldn't think of anything to say anyway, except to badger him about what might happen.

"Did you see anyone else at the warehouse?"

"The only smugglers I saw were the original five who abducted us. One guy seemed to be in charge of our kidnapping. John kept calling him Alfred. He was the one who eventually came back…" Her voice trailed off and she reached for the fresh cup of coffee that had been poured for her.

"How many hours?"

Nancy got the bitter sip swallowed and took a couple deep breaths. "I don't know for sure. They took my cell phone when we left the car and I wasn't wearing a watch. Three or four?"

"And then you were moved again?"

The cup sloshed…

**Two Days Ago:**

John had finally given up on the lock and sat against the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees. He looked relaxed but ready and Nancy wondered how he could stay so calm, look so…normal. She wandered closer and slid down the wall to sit next to him, readjusting his coat around her once she also was comfortable.

"You do this all the time?" she asked at last unable to keep all the resentment out of her voice.

"Not on purpose." His voice was distant, thinking again.

"You know, when we were together, every time you left on a mission, I was terrified it would be the last time I saw you. But I kept telling myself I was just being paranoid. I never suspected that being held hostage and getting beat up really was part of your job description." She was looking at his eye that was deepening into a real shiner.

"We're not being held hostage."

"Oh no?"

"No. Technically we've been kidnapped. This smuggling operation has what it wants. They aren't using us to negotiate for something else."

"That's very comforting."

"No, it's not. Listen," he turned to her and was suddenly intense. "I've been thinking – this is an inside job. Someone told these guys about your meeting. Until my people get here and I tell you it's OK, you can't trust anyone. Don't tell anyone anything about anything. These guys are gutsy. They'll try to trick you. They'll use me to get information out of you. You. Can't. Let. Them."

He was so deadly serious, she just stared at him

"Nancy?"

"Ok. I get it. Don't trust anyone but you." It seemed rather obvious advice.

"_And_ don't tell them anything. I'll keep them entertained as long as I can."

"Entertained?"

"And it will probably get worse before it gets better, depending on how long it takes McKay and Ronon to get here."

"John, you're scaring me."

He looked suddenly stern. "Better me than them. Better me than you."

"Are you scared?" she whispered.

"I'll get you out," he said. "My friends will come. Whatever happens, you have to hang in there. Don't…" his voice trailed off and he looked at the ceiling for a moment. She recognized him holding something back. How many times had she seen that look and wanted to scream at him to just tell her what he was thinking? "Don't give up," he finished. His voice was bitter.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she retorted, a bit more sharply than she expected, but she never got an answer. There was a scratching at the door as a key was thrust into the knob. John took a deep, uneasy breath.

"Show time."

He leaped to his feet and walked over to where he'd tossed the handcuffs. Nancy rose more slowly, holding the jacket tightly around her and fighting the impulse to back away into the corner. It had been easy to relax when the bad guys were gone, but fear came back in a rush.

John finished shoving the cuffs in his pants pockets and planted his feet in the center of the room, between her and the door.

When the door opened, she saw him quickly look over the group of kidnappers that filed in. She caught his slight slump as the room became suddenly crowded. All four – minus the driver – had returned.

"What took you so long? Where's your boss?" John sounded bored, cocky.

"He'll meet you later -"

"In that case, we haven't been introduced. You know who I am. You can call me Colonel, by the way. I prefer to keep things formal. Who are you?"

"- we have a minor matter to attend to first."

"Before you tell me your name?" John taunted with mock surprise, deliberately misinterpreting the smuggler. "I'll have to go with Alfred, then. You know, the old guy who does all of Batman's laundry, answers the door, crappy stuff like that. Your boss ever let you slide down the pole?"

John was babbling nonsense, but Nancy realized it did keep the men focused on him. Entertained indeed. She huddled at the back of the room, feeling like she was invisible.

"It's no wonder that sub came out of the water so easy. You guys don't seem to have a proper chain of command established. Makes you act stupid –." John was saying when Alfred waved a disgusted hand at the smuggler closest to him. The thug took a hard swing at John to shut him up, but his fist only connected with air.

John ducked, threw the off balance man into a second thug and took a swing of his own at a third. Nancy slid into the corner as a brief and violent fight erupted. John managed to bloody two of the kidnappers before their numbers overwhelmed him and he was finally pinned into the floor on his belly.

Alfred knelt and yanked John by the hair to look at him.

"You are the one who is acting stupid my friend. Don't make us hurt your pretty face any more than we have to. My boss prefers to save that part for himself."

John gasped, but didn't reply.

"Get him up."

John was heaved to his feet and Nancy could see his shoulders rising and falling. Alfred pulled a rather awkward looking device of some kind out of his suit coat and began waving it over John's shoulders and down his arms. The men holding him jostled a little as John flinched away from the box.

"What the hell is that?"

"Not much more than a metal detector. But it should be sufficient to find…there."

Alfred held the device just over a spot on John's left arm. "Hold him."

Nancy saw John's eyes go wide and she shouted out a ragged, "No!" as Alfred smoothly drew a handgun out and aimed it at him. The retort of the gun as it fired was deafening in the small room. John lurched at the impact and Nancy saw a fine spray of blood mist the air around him.

She closed her eyes and pressed against the walls, bracing herself into the corner to keep from sinking into the floor. Every nightmare she'd ever conjured up as she waited for him to come home from a mission flashed through her mind. She was living that nightmare. She was certain he was dead.

A low growl of pain pulled her back into the room. She opened her eyes. When her senses caught up, she realized that the bullet had imbedded itself in the wall and that John was still upright. He was clutching at his arm just above the elbow. Blood oozed between his fingers and ran freely down his arm, soaking the pale blue shirt in glistening red stripes.

She rushed to kneel beside where he'd fallen to his knees. Her heart was pounding in her ears, she could hardly breathe. She wanted to hold him, to take his face in her hands and force him to tell her he was alright. Instead, she wrapped one arm around his shoulders to steady him. She held him tightly to steady herself.

For the moment, he was unable to respond and remained on his knees, panting, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

"That should take care of that." Alfred was looking pleased and it was the most terrifying expression Nancy had ever seen.

"What was that for?" she demanded shakily, angry and scared in equal measure.

"The Colonel knows. Don't you? I'm sure you also know that we will be leaving this place immediately."

John took a shuddering breath and forced open his eyes to glare at Alfred. "Screw you," he whispered.

"Not so talkative, now, friend? Tell her." The smuggler raised his gun and aimed it at Nancy. John hesitated for only a heartbeat, then leaned a little harder against her.

"Subdermal transponder. Broadcasts a locater beacon my people can find."

"Used to broadcast. I'm certain it is no longer working. But we need to leave in case your _people_ have already managed to get a reading."

"They'll just find another way," John retorted. "You won't be able to hide us forever."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll find you eventually. The question is - how much of you will be left by then?"

Alfred wandered out of the room very briefly and returned with a little black case that he began unzipping as he walked. John groaned, a last expression of disgust, then pulled on the men holding him to stand up. Nancy rose with him, clinging to his elbow.

"If you know about the transponder, then you know you're in way over your head. When my friends find you the DEA will never get a sniff. You'll disappear. Just like your men on the sub."

"With great reward comes great risk. I think I will not be the one who will be mourned as missing."

Nancy's hands shook on John's arm. Her fingers were tacky with blood that continued to saturate the fabric.

Alfred reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a syringe. John's reaction to the needle was instant and violent. He stiffened and lunged backwards, jerking out of Nancy's grasp and sending the two henchman scrambling to maintain their hold.

"What is that?" Nancy demanded. She could hear John breathing in ragged gulps as he twisted against the men struggling to hold him.

"Travel insurance. Thought the Colonel might like to try out our product, since he took such an interest in it on our submarine."

John writhed even harder, shoving himself further away from the man holding the syringe. Nancy tried to remember what he'd said. They'd found…poppies? Afghanistan's finest? Heroin! Nancy also backed away and felt her shoulders grabbed by the remaining thug.

"Keep away from me," John rasped, his voice hoarse with disgust.

Alfred just tapped the syringe and moved closer.

"Don't, please don't," Nancy pleaded.

"I swear I will kill you," John spat with such venom that the smuggler actually hesitated.

"This might be easier if he's down."

Nancy lunged against her own restraints as John was mercilessly wrestled onto the floor. He fought like a tiger, but one of the thugs dug his fingers into the gunshot wound and John collapsed under the abuse, writhing against the agony.

"Please don't. Please stop," Nancy sobbed, sagging in her guard's grip.

Alfred knelt beside the mass of struggling bodies and snatched for an arm. Nancy saw the needle sink deep into flesh. John's curse of rage and defeat faded into a sudden, breathless silence. She couldn't see his face, but she saw his legs stop kicking, his arms drop limply into the floor.

A minute ticked by, then Alfred pushed himself to his feet.

"That should keep him happy for our ride."

"You bastards. What have you done?" Nancy said, surprised at how deadly calm she sounded.

"I've given him the best trip of his life. You'd pay a small fortune for this on the street."

She wrenched her arm out of the hands of the man who had been holding her and went to John, almost afraid to look at him. The guards moved aside to gather in a huddle with Alfred. To distract herself, to feel like she was doing something for him, she dug in the pockets of his jacket and found a handkerchief. She wrapped it around the oozing wound on his arm.

John lay curled in a loose ball, randomly moving his hands and legs in slow dream-like patterns. His eyes weren't quite closed, but drooped sleepily. His breath was so slow and shallow she worried for a moment that he'd stopped breathing altogether.

"I'm so sorry, John," she told him, rubbing his shoulder awkwardly in sympathy.

She only had a minute to reassure herself that he wasn't overdosing before she was pulled to her feet and marched out of the room. Two of the smugglers slung John between them and hauled him through the door behind her. They were put inside a large black van, and shut into near total darkness when the doors were slammed behind them.

When the van began to rock gently as it drove away from the warehouse, Nancy groped around and shoved at John until she was able to sit against the side with his head in her lap. He mumbled a little, low and oddly relaxed.

"Maybe dinner wasn't such a good idea after all," she muttered to herself. She patted John on the shoulder.

"Ferris wheel…" he slurred in meaningless mutterings. A slow blush heated her cheeks followed by tears that finally escaped the fragile boundaries of control.

She swiped angrily at her wet cheeks, then gave up as more only fell to replace them. "I'm not sure I can stand anymore of the entertainment, John," she said. "I would really like to leave this theater and go home."

"Atlantis," he said.

"Grant's waiting for me," she went on, ignoring his babblings, sniffling a little. "We were going to catch a movie tomorrow night. He promised to take the whole weekend off and now he's waiting…" her thoughts trailed off. "I hated waiting for you," she went on, lost in the irony of it all. "I grew sick to death of waiting for you. I couldn't stand not knowing where you were, when you'd come home…if you'd come home."

"Atlantis," he mumbled again and she cocked her head to listen more closely.

"You awake?"

"No."

"How do you feel? Are you…are you OK?"

John moved a little, curling against some discomfort. "No. Feel loopy. Head is fuzzy. I hate it. I hate it. I hate…" he gasped and she felt a shudder ripple through his shoulders. She cast around desperately in her mind for something to distract him from the discomfort. He shifted again and another hiss of disgust escaped his lips.

"Tell me what you're flying these days. John, tell me about what you flew to Moffett."

"Puddle jumper?"

"Yeah, the puddle jumper you flew to Moffett. You flying fixed-wing puddle jumpers these days? What happened to helicopters?"

She'd always asked him about what he was flying. On the one hand, it was a question he'd always answer – one of the few – in animated detail. On the other, she'd know what to listen for on the news. They always reported the types of craft that crashed or were shot down first.

"Better…" he panted, and she had to guess at his meaning.

"This puddle jumper you're flying is better than helicopters?" she asked, amused. He'd been such a rotorhead in his early training.

"Better than…anything," he answered, and there was a hint of exhilaration in the tone.

"I'll have to take your word for it."

John hissed again and she hastily babbled the first question that came to mind, "You dating anyone, John?"

"No…no," he answered after a long delay, breathing hard between each word. She felt a little guilty about being pleased by the answer. "In command. I'm in command."

"Lonely at the top, huh?" she murmured idly. How different would her life be if she were a Colonel's wife?

"Where do you live?" she asked softly. _Where would she live?_

"Can't…can't tell you," he gasped.

"Still keeping your secrets, huh?" She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. Somehow, someway, it always came back to secrets.

"Secrets, yes. Top Secret. Can't tell them. Don't tell them. No! I won't tell you. Get the hell away from me. I…feel…" He finished with a great groan of anguish and fell unresponsive to her frantic queries and attempts to distract him again.

John grew more agitated and began to cry out in inarticulate barks. When he started to thrash, she held his head tightly to her, and stroked his hair in desperate comfort.

"Come on, tough guy," she choked out in a soothing murmur, "you can ride it out. It will be over soon.

"No!" he yelled. "No, I'll kill you. They'll come for me. We don't leave people behind."

"Your friends are coming, John. Just ride it out."

Nancy held him tightly as he writhed and cursed and threatened the phantom enemies his drug addled mind was conjuring. She rather thought heroin was supposed to make you live happy fantasies, but she also knew that everyone reacted differently. And she had no idea how much they'd given him. She pressed her fingers into his neck and felt her own pulse racing as she recognized his was too fast. His hair was damp with sweat. The van was stuffy and she was hot herself from wrestling and holding John so close.

"You need to calm down," she began to chant, wondering if anxiety was a symptom of overdose. "You need to wait it out. Your friends are coming. I'm here. It's OK, I'm here."

"Nancy?" he asked, sounding almost lucid.

"Yes! I'm here. We're here together."

"NO!"

He screamed the word and yanked himself out of her grasp. She heard him try to stand and then fall against the side of the van as it swayed out from underneath him.

"John, please," she called, "please calm down. It's OK."

He lurched again and she heard him hit the opposite wall then slide down to the floor again. His ragged breaths were loud in the confined space. She was afraid to touch him again, afraid he'd hurt her, or himself, if she startled him.

"Don't hurt her," he said after long tense moment. It was half-shout, half-gasp. "I'll kill you if…hurt her."

A fresh trail of heat streaked her cheeks, "I'm OK, John. They didn't hurt me."

"I'll do anything…" John's voice was growing weaker, more pleading, "my wife…don't hurt…my wife."

She heard him collapse and lie still, but she remained stunned against the wall.

"Oh…John," she whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Present:**

Barrantes tapped his notebook for a moment, then leaned forward to study her carefully. Nancy suddenly felt like he was watching as if to catch her in a lie, and she rubbed her eyes to soothe the sting that was threatening.

"The smugglers drugged the Colonel before you were moved?"

"Yes. I think it was Heroin."

"Was the Colonel interrogated while he was still under the influence of the drugs?"

Nancy squirmed uncomfortably. She knew where he was going with the question, and her emotions were so raw she was close to slipping into anger.

"We drove for over an hour at least. When we were taken out of the van it was still night, but I got the impression we were out in the country somewhere. It was quiet when we went from the van into the compound."

"SWAT says it's an old vineyard. You were held in a refurbished manufacturing building. The smugglers had spent some serious coin fortifying that place. It was manufacturing heroin and other drugs."

"There were lots of guards. We were taken to a room and locked in. We were left alone for about two more hours. John slept the whole time and I dozed off, too. When Alfred came to take John away, he had to wake both of us up."

"Which answers my question. Sheppard was interrogated about three hours after being given a hit of heroin – within the duration of the drug's influence."

"Yes."

"Mrs. Harrison, this is very important. Did Colonel Sheppard say anything during the time he was under the influence that was inappropriate, that might have compromised state security, before or after he returned from that interrogation?"

"No. I talked to him a little during some lucid moments. He was high, but aware of himself to the degree that he understood what he could and couldn't say." She looked at her hands, "He was still keeping his secrets."

"I would still appreciate hearing everything he did say."

"Ok, um, I asked him if he was dating anyone, he said no. I asked him if he still flies helicopters, he told me he flies something better now. Some kind of classified puddle jumper that they needed special landing conditions for. It was why we had to meet at Moffett."

"Did he actually admit that he pilots classified aircraft?"

"Not really. I'm putting things together. He never called it classified, but the Air Force was secretive about their arrival, so…." She shrugged.

"He didn't tell you anything else about this classified craft?"

"No. Just that it was better than anything. I was surprised he liked flying anything fixed-wing."

"So there is one of these craft at Moffett?"

"Unless someone moved it."

"Very well, what else?"

"He mentioned the name of a children's movie. It made no sense. Just delusional mutters."

"Which movie?"

"Atlantis? I saw it with Grant's – my husband's – nephews. Told you it was dumb."

"But perhaps not unrelated. The Air Force is sitting on the ocean at the moment. They intercepted a submarine."

"Yes. They both involve water. Very suspicious." She heard her voice go cold with the sarcasm, but she was getting tired of Barrantes' accusations.

"What about after he was brought back from the interrogation? Did he say anything about what he'd been asked, or say anything to you that could have been confidential?"

"He was coming down when he got back. Hard. He…wasn't happy…"

**1 Day Ago:**

She was awakened by a rough shove against her shoulder. She was so groggy that it took her a moment to blink back the confusion and realize that Alfred and his friends were yanking at John's arms to haul him to very unsteady feet. Her hand pulled out of his as he was dragged away from where they'd been lying together, huddled against one wall of the small room within the larger and heavily guarded compound they'd been brought to.

She scrambled to her own feet and moved to where she could see John's face. She had to know if he was doing OK. He'd slipped into such deep sleep, she'd feared for him.

"Where are you taking him?"

Alfred snickered at her concern.

"The Colonel has an appointment with my boss," he said looking smug. "He's very much looking forward to being introduced."

Something about the way Alfred savored the last word brought a shiver down Nancy's spine. She looked back at John, watching for some reaction – some clue as to what he was thinking. He was looking around blearily; he seemed hardly aware of his surroundings at all as he hung limply in the hands of the smuggler escort. Alfred slapped him on the back in a jocular fashion.

"We'll take good care of him. If he's lucky, he's still so high, he won't remember a thing."

With that frightening implication, he waved the escort towards the door and John was dragged along. At the threshold he suddenly stiffened against the hands holding him.

"Nancy?!" he called, twisting to try to see behind him. She took a step closer.

"Yes? I'm here John," she called, watching Alfred nervously for disapproval.

"Stay…stay here," John called. He still sounded groggy, confused. "Wait for me."

Alfred just rolled his eyes and shoved the group forward.

"Ok, I'll wait," she called before they closed the door.

The latch clicked, a bolt was thrown and she was alone. She stared for a moment, then began to shiver. Full-body shudders wracked her and she sank to the floor and crawled to the wall to prop her back against it. This room was much like the last, except there was a small bathroom through a door in one corner and a simple wooden table, like the kind you put at the end of a sofa, was situated haphazardly in the middle of the room. The carpet looked and smelled new, but was industrial quality and offered little softness to the hard blankness of the room.

Desperate to get control of herself, she put her arms in the sleeves of John's jacket and curled her knees into her chest. Her long, flowing skirt spilled around her and she dropped her head, trying to disappear into the pile of fabric.

Being alone was worse. Even when Alfred had shot John, she'd at least been with him. Even at that most vulnerable, he'd been protecting her. Sitting by herself, imagining what they might be doing to him, was torture. The shakes returned and she buried her face in the jacket's lapel. John's jacket. Her ex-husband's jacket. The more she thought about him, the more confused she got.

His wife? After all these years, and all the hurts that had separated them, why would he call her that? In her most resentful of moments, she was skeptical that he realized he had a wife when they'd actually been married. A few months of the year together, in bits and fits of days, an occasional few weeks at a time, didn't make a marriage. Not for her, at least.

John wasn't brought back for another three or four hours. Nancy sat in a stupor, halfway between sleep and tortured wakefulness. When the door opened it was with a thrust and a violent slam as it swung all the way back against the wall. Three men wrestled John through the door. He was jerking and fighting against the hands on his arms and it took all three men to manage him far enough into the room to consider letting him go.

When they did, John lunged for the door, knocking the closest smuggler off balance. The remaining two managed to get their shoulders into John's headlong rush long enough to stop him. There was a charged standoff as John was unable to make progress, but the thugs were unable to move off far enough to leave the room. One of the smugglers finally got a hand up to swing at John's jaw. John reeled from the blow and several more were delivered with vengeful force into his sides and stomach.

He wrapped his arms around himself, curling over long enough for the smugglers to exit hastily and slam the door behind them. Nancy pulled herself to her feet. John glared at the door for three deep, ragged breaths and then launched himself at it, slamming his shoulder into the unyielding wood.

"Bastards!" he yelled, then stepped back to fling himself at the door again.

"John, stop!" Nancy yelled back, afraid he was going to hurt himself. John rammed the door one last time, then kicked at the frame. She approached him cautiously as he began to pace along the wall in jerky, manic strides. He was restless, wild…and bleeding.

"What did they do to you?" she asked.

"Show and tell," he muttered, raking the back of his hand over the oozing cut on his lip. The scuffle had re-split the cut from before.

"I don't…"

"They show me they mean business, I tell them nothing."

"What do they want?"

"Advantage. Leverage." His fists were clenching as he spoke and he spun in a tight circle before pacing away from her again, "An excuse to piss me off." He slammed his fists into the door.

"Do you hear me?! I'm getting pissed off here!" he shouted at unseen ears on the other side. Nancy saw his hands shaking as he leaned against the door, almost as if worn out by his outburst.

"You're coming down. The drugs are wearing off."

"Yeah!" he snarled, then walked along the wall, his steps suddenly weary as the anger bled away as quickly as it flared. "Yeah. Feels like shit. They brought me back to enjoy the side-effects." At the corner, he turned and continued on around the room like a tiger who paces in his cage out of mindless habit.

"Will they…will they take you away again?"

"Oh, I'm sure they aren't too happy with me. They'll take another crack or two at me before they decide I'm no good to them." He met another corner and turned again. Nancy found herself slowly circling as she turned to keep facing him.

"And then what?"

"My people will get here before they get the balls to finish me off."

"Oh, God, John. Don't talk like that."

"I'll give them something. Something useless that will take a while to confirm. That'll buy us some time." He stopped walking with a thoughtful tilt to his head. "Or maybe something not so useless," he added quietly, as if speaking to himself.

"What if…what if no one comes for us? What if they take you away and you don't come back?" She had to ask, she was too scared not to. She wanted him to give her something more than faith in a secret unit she wasn't allowed to know about.

"I told you, they'll come! I said they'll come, and I mean they'll fucking come!" He was yelling again. Nancy knew it was the drugs that were amplifying his emotions, messing with his control, but she was equally frazzled and her own hackles went up.

"I want to believe that, but –."

"No you don't," he spat, then spun away to walk back the way he'd come.

"I don't what?" It came out an annoyed snap.

"You don't want to believe me. You never did."

"What does that mean?"

"I didn't expect you to know."

"Jesus, John."

He rounded on her, pointing an accusing finger. His eyes were wild, his lip swollen and bright red. The hand that was thrust at her so menacingly shook with unchecked tremors.

"You never trusted me," he said.

"How can you say that? I spent five years of my life waiting for you. And what did I get for that trust? An empty house while you took more training. While you disappeared into more secrets. I trusted you John, and that trust was betrayed."

He leaned close, his eyes more angry than she'd ever seen him get. He used to retreat into maddening silence, he used to shut up and walk away before he let anything out.

"You. Left. Me." He said, hoarse with the emotion he usually kept under such tight wraps.

Nancy felt her face heat. She couldn't quite believe they were doing this now, here, under these ridiculous circumstances, but there was a bizarre part of her that welcomed the brutal honesty. She'd never seen John get so close to just letting it out.

"Our marriage was dying, John. I just pulled the trigger and put it out of its misery. I left because there was nothing left to save."

She wanted him to yell some more, so she could yell back and get it all off her chest. She wanted him to make excuses that she already had answers for. She had twelve years of bitterness prepared. Twelve years of justified indignation that had been the only thing that kept her from missing him. It had taken her so long to stop missing him.

Instead, his eyes went wide with horror and he staggered back a step as if she'd hit him. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and put a hand out to brace himself against the wall.

"No. I…"

He was shaking, and working hard to conceal it. Nancy felt her anger waver, just slightly. _Come on, John. Let it out. Just tell me what you're thinking._

"I loved you," he said at last, opening his eyes and lifting his chin with quiet challenge.

Tears of frustration, wet her eyes, but she didn't allow them to fall.

"It wasn't enough."

She hated herself for enjoying his flinch before he flung his hands in the air in frustration of his own.

"I know!" he yelled.

Again, his words stunned her into frozen silence. He turned away to walk slowly around the room, touching the wall with a hand as he went. He stopped at the corner opposite the room from her, and turned into the wall, resting his forehead against the paint. She saw him swallow hard, as if holding back nausea. Considering the drugs, he probably was. He took a couple of deep, stomach settling breaths and then lowered himself to the ground to prop his back against the wall. He tucked his knees into his chest, rolled his head back and closed his eyes.

"I know," he repeated. "And I'm sorry."

**Present:**

"Ma'am?" Barrantes called and Nancy snapped her head up. She'd forgotten where she was for a moment. She was so tired.

"Yes? Oh, right. John was coming down when he got back. He was agitated and easily angered." _And painfully honest._

"Did he say anything that…"

"No! Dammit! I keep telling you. He told them nothing. He said he told them nothing. He told me nothing." _Except the truth_.

Barrantes face flashed with a flicker of anger that he quickly held in check. He tapped his notepad and looked like a man calculating another angle of attack. She stifled a sigh. Barrantes wouldn't give up 'til he got what he wanted. She resigned herself to answering his questions just to get it over with. It wouldn't matter anyway. John hadn't betrayed them. Nothing she could say would condemn him.

"The Colonel was angry as a side effect of the drugs. Did you have any conversation at all with him during the time he was with you? Before they interrogated him the second time?"

"We had an argument. Not really much of a conversation."

"Can you tell me what you argued about?"

"It isn't important. It was…personal."

"Personal?" Barrantes leaned forward and seemed suddenly quite curious. "Forgive me, Mrs. Harrison, but earlier you said you asked him about other personal matters and seemed to imply that you knew the Colonel before your meeting this weekend. If I may ask, what is your relationship with Colonel Sheppard, exactly? I admit, until an hour ago, I had assumed you were merely colleagues and that your concern for him was out of your recent shared experience."

Nancy chuckled softly. "The colleague part is the real surprise, Agent Barrantes. It's pure coincidence I was at that meeting two days ago with John. I wasn't expecting him to be there. No, John and I were involved. A long time ago."

"Involved?"

"Married actually."

Barrantes stared at her for so long she squirmed under the intense scrutiny. He was just almost frightening her. When he slapped down his notebook, she jumped, startled by the noise.

"I'll get you some more coffee. We're almost finished with this. I'll also check to see if they have any news on Colonel Sheppard's condition." He left abruptly.

"Thank you," she managed to say before he'd escaped through the door. She sat staring at her empty cup.

John had suffered the remaining withdrawal in silence. She'd watched him shake and sweat and force down dry swallows of nausea. And then he'd slept. The smugglers left them alone for several hours then entered in force to drop off some simple food – rolls, fruit and cheese – and water. John paced the back wall the whole time the men were there, nudging her behind him and watching carefully.

No opportunities presented themselves and the men left them alone again. John waited for her to drink her fill, and then he attacked the water with not so restrained desperation. The water to the faucet in the bathroom had been disconnected they'd discovered. He had either decided to ignore their previous argument, or he'd been so loopy on the drugs that he didn't remember. What little they spoke was for simple communication and solidly back in the 'charmingly wary' category. In other words, John was back to normal. But Nancy's barriers of resentment and long-nurtured anger had started to crumble.

Nancy looked up hopefully as Barrantes returned with a full coffee pot and searched his face as he poured the steaming brew into her cup. It was barely drinkable stuff, bitter and stale with no fragrance at all. The agents in this office had obviously given up on trying to brew a decent cup and the pot was stained with hundreds of refillings without a rinse.

"Have you heard from John's people? Do you know where he is? How he's doing?"

Barrantes ignored the question long enough to return the pot to the burner just outside the little room she'd spent the last 90 minutes in. When he sat down in the chair again and picked up his notepad, a shiver tickled her spine. Barrantes was avoiding her gaze.

"Agent?!" Her voice shook a little.

"Sheppard was transferred to San Francisco General's Trauma Center an hour ago. Director Mueller just contacted me from there."

Barrantes finally looked her in the eye and seemed to be sizing her up. Nancy couldn't speak. Her chest was tight and she felt lightheaded with a rush of foreboding. She just stared and waited for whatever Barrantes was going to say next. When he spoke again, his voice sounded edgy, roughened.

"Ten minutes ago, Lt. Col. John Sheppard died as a result of the injuries suffered during his captivity. I'm very sorry, Mrs. Harrison. Sheppard's dead."


	7. Chapter 7

**Yesterday:**

When they came for him the second time, one of smugglers took an interest in her. John had apparently decided to go somewhat quietly. He was looking stronger and almost completely sober after rest and food. Two of the usual escort, the same friends they'd met in the cab, had him by the arms when the third sauntered over to where Nancy stood, huddled against the back wall.

"You been enjoying yourself, friend?" the thug sneered, looking at John. "If I had a pretty thing like this locked up with me, I'd find ways to pass the time. You know what I mean?"

Nancy turned her head away as the man touched her face with a gentle stroke and swallowed down bile that was the result of pure terror. The swarthy South American smuggler cooed at her through a leering grin and slid his hand down her neck, over her collarbone.

Before he could go any lower, there was a scuffle in the middle of the room and the man's eyes went wide in surprise as John's fist came out of nowhere. The smuggler reeled and fell and John was on top of him, pummeling his face and chest. He continued beating the man even after the two remaining men recovered their wits enough to hit and kick at him.

Eventually, again, numbers won out and a series of savage blows stunned John long enough for them to knock him off his victim. The smuggler on the ground was bloody and unconscious.

"You'll pay for that," one of the remaining escorts snarled, and kicked John in the side as he was trying to push himself to his feet. John rolled, then began to push himself up again. The man pursued him. "You're more trouble than you're worth, friend." He kicked again and this time John yelped at the second blow to the same spot.

"Just bring him. The boss wants to ask him questions when he gets hit. You'll get your chance."

Nancy flinched at the words so casually spoken. The angry smuggler restrained himself with effort. He hauled John to his feet and dragged him towards the door with one arm slung over a shoulder. The man John had beaten groaned and fluttered back to consciousness. His friend helped him up.

"Wait for me!" John called from the door again, "Don't go with them. Stay here. Wait…" and then he was gone.

The shakes this time lasted even longer, and Nancy couldn't close her eyes without seeing the smuggler leaning over her, laughing and touching her face. She felt cold all over. Exposed. John had stopped him. Not only stopped him, but beaten the man senseless with a fury she'd never seen. She supposed it was partly a fury that all gentlemen felt in the presence of such vile behavior, but John had been…vicious. For the first time, she truly believed that John would kill anyone who hurt her. His threats to the drug-induced phantoms no longer seemed silly or idle.

When they brought John back, hours later, he was barely conscious. It took both of the men escorting him to carry him into the room. His feet dragged along the ground and he didn't even try to support his own weight when they slipped his arms off their shoulders.

Nancy dropped beside him as the escort left without a word. John cursed softly under his breath and tried to roll as if to sit up, but she caught a flash of pain cross his face and he quickly stopped moving. She shucked off the jacket, wadded it up and put the pile under his head. He lay for a long time, holding very still, as if afraid to try again. His breath was shallow and had a raspy quality.

When she caught him rubbing at his side for the second time, she gently pushed the hand away and lifted up his shirt to check underneath for what was bothering him. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes stung with hot sympathy.

His chest was a mass of red and green bruises, the skin so mottled, that she couldn't find a patch of unblemished flesh above his lowest rib. The side that the smuggler had kicked was violently purple already, and the massive bruise looked deep and swollen.

"Oh, John. What did they do to you?"

"Show and tell," he answered to her surprise, batting her hands away and smoothing the shirt back down over the ravaged flesh.

"They showed you how to tenderize meat?" she snapped, angry at the abuse.

"And I told them what I wanted them to hear," he finished. He groaned and flopped over to drag himself gingerly to the nearest wall where he propped his shoulders up into a half-sit. His hand was back against the side. "They were just playing. Stuck to the ribcage. If they really wanted to hurt me, they'd have gone for the kidneys and spleen."

He took a deep breath that looked like it hurt. "You OK? They didn't bother you while I was gone?" There was a slight hesitancy in his voice.

"No. I didn't see anyone the whole time. No one came here."

"Good," he breathed, looking very relieved. His concern brought more heat to her face, but he went on. "They were getting more impatient than I expected. I had to give them a red herring to chase down. Some information they were all over. If we're lucky, it will buy us time and maybe get my friends headed in the right direction."

"How?"

"I sent them to a Navy dock that we've been using to supply our…research…off the coast."

"But doesn't that seem risky?"

John actually smiled. "That place is better protected than Fort Knox. Anybody they send to check it out is going to get caught faster than you can say "freeze bozo". When they try to use the IDC code I gave them, it will also be obvious I sent them."

"You gave away codes to the cartel?"

"The code I gave them won't mean anything to anybody but my people. They'll know I sent them and we'll change the code tomorrow anyway. Haven't been using it a lot lately." He added the last a bit wistfully.

Nancy felt a little flutter of hope that she hadn't realized had grown so dim. "That's a good idea John. That sounds great. Do you really think it will lead your people here?"

"That's the idea. I'm sure they'll work with anyone who can help, FBI, DEA, ATF, whoever. Lots of interdepartmental cooperation. They'll connect the dots. My people have technology to bring to the table that those guys can only dream of. They'll find us."

"I believe you," she stated softly, making the words almost a challenge. He eyed her.

"Good. Remember what I said. Don't trust anybody but me. However the rescue goes down, wait for me to give you the all-clear."

He squirmed and a gasp escaped. When he pressed his hand into the deeply bruised side again, Nancy found herself stroking his shoulder to comfort him.

"So, if you were so intimidated and cooperative, how come they beat you up so badly?"

"My psychology backfired. They assumed it was the abuse that got me talking. They were happy to keep it up." He grunted again and curled a little more into the sore side. "That guy busted a couple of ribs with his goalie kick before we even got to the fun stuff."

"Thank you for stopping that man. I…I owe you one, John."

"Call it even."

"No, I'm serious." She looked down, feeling suddenly timid. Maybe it was the fear, the thought that they might not make it out of here alive. Or maybe she was just tired of being angry. "What you've done for me, everything you've done and they've done to you. I… If we don't make it out of here, then I just need you to know that…I'm glad…if I had to go through this, then I'm glad I had to go through it with you."

She looked into his face and found him studying her fiercely.

"We'll make it out of here," he rasped, doggedly sticking to his optimism.

"I'm sorry things didn't work out differently for us," she finished, finally verbalizing her confession. If they didn't make it, she needed him to hear that. She wanted them to set the hurt aside to be able to remember the things that had been good.

He looked at the ceiling and she almost chuckled at the painfully familiar expression. Just let it out, John. She reached up to brush a strand of hair off of his forehead. She flipped his fluff of hair that perpetually grew at odds like she used to do and noticed that the rest was dull and spikey from sweat and rough handling.

"Stop."

Nancy jerked her hand away, reddening. John was stiff as a statue, his expression closed.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," she stammered. He looked at the ceiling again, this time with an annoyed chuff. She felt her embarrassment deepen.

"John…"

"Just…don't," he said, his voice fading. He breathed through several short, shallow gasps, then slid his shoulder into the floor, closing his eyes and clutching at his side with both hands.

"Maybe you should rest," she told him faintly.

"Yeah," he gasped and closed his eyes. His breath continued to be raspy and wheezy, even once it slowed.

Again she caught herself reaching for him and had to walk across the room to resist the impulse. She paced back and forth, restless with confusion. What the hell was wrong with her? When the answer came to her – or she finally admitted it – she slid down the wall and hid her face in her knees. She'd loved him so much. It had taken years of cultivating anger for her to stop loving him. And without the anger, she was vulnerable. She'd forgiven John, unwillingly though it happened, she'd forgiven him.

What she realized, for the first time – with her heart laid bare and her soul craving reconciliation – what she'd finally figured out, was that, just maybe, John had not forgiven her.

**Present:**

Nancy huddled under John's jacket, hardly aware of the world around her. Barrantes was hastily asking his final questions and she answered mechanically. Some strange part of her was able to observe how calm she seemed, as if watching herself from across the room. She had a little plan: she'd finish the debriefing; she'd go to the hospital and say goodbye. Grant would meet her there. It was all logical. She didn't feel anything. Yet.

"Mrs. Harrison, you said that the Colonel was beaten quite severely during the second interrogation. Are you aware that he disclosed the location of a secret supply warehouse that housed weapons and technology? Two members of the cartel that kidnapped you were captured trying to penetrate the area. Most probably scouting it out for future attack. Do you care to add anything to your comments?"

Had she not been numb, she would have felt annoyed at the accusatory tone of Barrantes delivery. He was an ass. He'd been sitting on that line the whole interrogation, trying to goad her into admitting it. If he'd just asked her at the beginning…

"His plan worked," she said dully.

"What plan?"

"John…" Saying his name was painful and her breath hitched before she went on, "He gave them the location of the warehouse knowing it was under high security. He was hoping they'd get caught. Did they use the codes?"

"He told you he gave up security codes for the warehouse?" Barrantes' voice was tight. For the first time, her comment seemed to have surprised him.

"The code didn't have anything to do with the warehouse. It was a personal ID code that would tell his people he'd sent the smugglers. It was supposed to lead them to us. I guess it did."

"I…I see."

Nancy looked up in surprise at Barrantes. His notebook lay forgotten in his lap and his face was flushed. He was clenching his jaw so tightly that she could see the muscles in his face working with the effort. Serves him right, she thought bitterly. He'd been so eager to discredit John.

"I see. I think we're done. You've been quite helpful."

Nancy sighed. She was careful not to let relief set loose the grief she was holding back with sheer willpower.

"Good. Now please arrange transportation for me to San Francisco, Agent. I need to go to the hospital where John…is. I'll also need to contact my husband and let him know to meet me there instead of here." She pushed herself to her feet and pulled the jacket off of her shoulders. She folded it carefully and laid the soft, neat length over her arm.

"I need to see John. One last time."


	8. Chapter 8

**Yesterday:**

John was only able to sleep for a little while before the obvious discomfort of his injuries kept him from it. Food was brought after a couple of hours, the same simple and wholly unsatisfying selection, and again they were left alone. This time, Nancy only took a sip or two, coaxing John to drink as much as he could.

They talked a little. John asked a lot of questions about Grant which made her uncomfortable until she realized that he was really fishing to see if she was happy. He seemed to be reassuring himself that Grant was good to her. An ache she couldn't explain was starting to build in her chest. She almost wanted John to be jealous. His concern about her happiness just made her more confused. The thought triggered a sudden memory.

"John, why did you come to my house that night five years ago?" she asked after answering another question about Grant's work.

"When?" he said from where he'd started to pace along the back wall. The more time passed, the more agitated he seemed to become. She almost got the impression he asked not because he didn't know what she was talking about, but to stall having to answer.

"Five years ago. Just before Grant and I got married. We'd been living together for a year and you came to the house. I hadn't seen or heard from you except through the grapevine and your father for years."

"Oh. That," he said as if that answered the question. Apparently she'd hit a nerve because he was clearly avoiding. It made her even more curious.

"Yeah, that. I have to admit I was mad. I thought you'd gotten wind of the wedding and were going to try to – I don't know – interfere."

"No, I had no idea. You told me that night."

"So then, why?"

"I hadn't seen you in a long time."

"So what prompted you to suddenly want to?"

"We didn't separate on very good terms…"

Nancy felt a shiver at the truth he was dancing around, "No we didn't. You shipped overseas a week after I… after we…ended." He just left. Disappeared. Like he'd just been waiting to go.

"…and I wanted to say, uh, goodbye."

She'd been so flustered that night in her new home she'd made with Grant that she'd missed it. Looking back, she remembered the finality of his words. He'd asked a little about Grant then; she'd told him about her new job with the DHS. He'd always been so painfully awful at small talk and she'd been so suspicious of his motives, she hadn't picked up on the clues.

"Goodbye?" she pressed.

"Yeah, well…" he grinned with that nervous thing he did when he was getting embarrassed about speaking personally. "I had kindof a new job, too, and I wasn't…sure I'd be coming back."

She didn't know what to say. She'd asked him to leave. She'd been brusque and harsh. He'd been trying to say goodbye because he thought he was going to die. Would he have forgiven her then if she had been ready to hear it? Would they always be out of sync?

"You did come back," she managed finally.

"I did," he said and his voice was proud.

"This new job – Was it what you're doing now? This Top Secret project you're in command of?"

"Not exactly. Not at first. But that's what it became."

"You like what you're doing now. Don't you?"

She knew she was repeating herself. She'd seen his satisfaction on the porch in Mt. View. But this time she spoke the words with regret instead of jealousy.

"Some days are better than others," he also repeated, this time adding a pointed wave at the room they were trapped in.

"How many days are like this?" she wondered, almost to herself. She didn't expect him to answer. Surely he was speaking metaphorically. Surely his life didn't involve desperate life and death encounters on a regular basis.

"More than I'd like. But it's worth it." She jerked her head at him in surprise at the sharpness of his voice. "It's worth it, Nancy." There was an edge of that same finality she'd heard five years ago in the tone. He reached out tentatively to touch her arm, then seemed to change his mind and dropped it again.

The ache intensified over the last hour they were together. John grew more and more anxious. She tried for a little while to get him to lie down and rest. He did for perhaps ten minutes, but was so obviously uncomfortable that she gave up when he staggered back to his feet to begin pacing again. He seemed to feel the pain less when he was moving.

His tension filled the room and she found it vibrating through her.

"What!" she finally snapped. He was driving her crazy. If he didn't stand or sit still in the next five minutes, she was going to scream.

"They should be here," he said, the sound little more than a breathy growl. "They should have gotten the message – ."

The door slammed open with a surprising bang and John, already taut as a bow, lunged for her. He shoved her behind him and stood so close that she almost couldn't see the men who entered over his heaving shoulders.

"You little fuck!"

Alfred himself had returned. Nancy hadn't seen him since the first interrogation and he looked really pissed off. He stalked across the room towards John who reached behind him and pushed Nancy a safe distance back. Alfred stopped an intimidating glare away. She could see John lift his chin to return the look.

"Your intel was crap. You set us up."

"No…" John started to say, but Alfred swung his fist so fast and untelegraphed that John stumbled back with the blow, tripping to his knees. Nancy skittered away to press against the wall again.

"Yes," Alfred snarled.

John stood up and Alfred swung again. This time, John got his arms up to block the strike at his face, but missed the blow into his already savaged side. He doubled over, sank to his knees and planted his face in the thin carpet.

"Our scouts got picked up. You set us up."

A whimper escaped Nancy's lips as Alfred swung his foot at John's head. His neck jerked with the impact and he rolled with the blow to end up sprawled onto his back. A thick trickle of blood oozed out from under his hairline and began to drip across his brow.

Alfred spat on John's prone form and turned to Nancy. She clawed at the wall as if trying to find a purchase.

"Take her. Maybe she'll be more helpful than her boyfriend now she knows what happens to liars."

Two of the men who'd entered with Alfred stepped forward swiftly, one with a swollen lip and a look of such smug expectation that she thought she might wretch.

"John!" she cried, feeling streaks of heat wet her face.

Somehow, John rolled to his knees, then pushed far enough to his feet to throw himself at the closest smuggler. He rammed his shoulder into the man and knocked him aside to get himself in front of Nancy. He spread his feet, pressing her into the wall with his back. She felt him trembling as he braced himself. She clung to his waist and buried her face between his shoulder blades.

"I didn't set you up," he panted. She could feel him struggling to get enough breath into his damaged ribcage. "I told you the place was highly classified. I told you there was good stuff there. What did you expect? If your idiot scouts got themselves caught, don't blame their stupidity on me. I gave you what you wanted. I gave you the code."

Alfred stepped aggressively close and John flinched, the fear rippling along his back. There was a tense silence. John broke first and his voice sounded pleading, frightened even.

"Please. I didn't lie. That place is a…a gold mine. Weapons, technology, supplies. I thought…I thought the code would get you in. I thought it was what you wanted."

Alfred chuffed in disgust. John's voice grew even more desperate, "Please. I've got more. You can try somewhere else. I didn't lie. The security should prove that I didn't lie."

"There was security, all right," Alfred admitted with grudging malice. "I still think it's the Lady's turn, though."

"NO!" John yelled, not nearly as cowed as he was playing at, "You touch her you get nothing out of me. I've got more. I know where they took your men from the sub. Take me."

Alfred grinned, for an instant looking almost impressed. "We take you again, friend, you're not coming back. The boss gave orders for you. I don't care how much you give up, you've only got one more conversation left in you." He spoke the last with a sneer, rolling his eyes over John's bleeding face and tentative breaths.

"Take me," John answered quickly and firmly. "I'll talk," he added as if just remembering to sound scared again.

Alfred laughed. "Your funeral. I admit I'm eager to finish this. You've been a distraction for far too long." He slapped John across the cheek, a stinging display of respect. "We'll get to your girlfriend soon enough."

"You never know. I'm tougher than I look. This could take a while."

Alfred just waved at the escort who'd been watching and waiting for their orders. They moved silently to either side of John who relaxed and offered them his elbows. He took a single step towards the door, but Nancy pulled him back, clinging desperately to his waist.

"John," she sobbed. She couldn't let him go. They'd said he wouldn't come back.

"Wait for me," he said. He pulled her hands off his hips himself. "Remember what I said. Wait for me."

He walked out of the room under his own power, followed closely by Alfred. The smuggler with the smug leer held her back, then blew her a kiss as he closed the door.

**Present:**

Nancy fidgeted as Barrantes just sat in his chair. He'd said they were done. She was ready to go.

"Agent?"

"Sit down, Mrs. Harrison."

"Excuse me?"

"You are going to sit down and tell me the patrol strategy for the California coast and give me their radio frequencies."

Nancy clutched the jacket to her stomach. "What?"

Barrantes went on, his expression slipping into feral coldness. "And when you have told me that, you will tell me the passwords for the border patrol databases out of San Diego and Austin."

"….what?" She put a hand on the desk. Her heart was thrashing in her chest. This was making no sense. He was frightening her.

Barrantes sighed. When he spoke his voice was slow, patronizing, "You will tell me what I want to know, Mrs. Nancy Harrison of the DHS. I killed Sheppard to learn what I want to know. His death, while necessary, was unsatisfying and hasty. Don't make me also kill you too quickly."

"Oh god," she whispered, frozen to the spot. Barrantes heaved himself to his feet and sauntered over to stand over her. She shrank against the back wall and looked wildly out the door. She was in an FBI field office. The other agents would stop this, wouldn't they?

"There is no one here to help you," Barrantes said, catching her glance.

"But, you're FBI. I checked your badge…you -."

"Oh, yes. I'm quite legitimate. Sadly it's a day job I'll be leaving, thanks to your Colonel Sheppard and his interfering Air Force colleagues. It's been quite a useful position, of great benefit to the Juarez Carrillo Cartel."

"Where am I?"

"In one of the cartel's less impressive offices. I wish I could have shown you what we'd built at the Napa compound. You saw only the manufacturing levels. The executive offices were quite…lovely."

The activity in the interrogation room was attracting attention, and Nancy saw two or three men stop to idly watch through the door. Had they all looked so dark and intimidating when she'd walked past them two hours ago? She'd been so grateful to be out of the compound. She'd thought she'd been rescued. She'd heard gunfire and explosions and Barrantes had burst into the room, flashing his badge and pulling her out of the battle onto an FBI helicopter.

Barrantes stepped close and snatched for her chin, holding her face close to his in a painful grip.

"Let me go. Please."

"After I get the patrol strategy and the database passwords."

"I don't know anything. I'm a bureaucrat. Please…"

"You're a bureaucrat with the highest level of security clearance in the DHS office of border safety. You were targeted because, unlike your military counterparts, you were expected to be more…persuadable."

"You killed John," she hissed, shame and exhaustion bubbling into hot fury. "I won't help you."

"Oh, you've already been quite helpful." Barrantes slapped her cheek, then stepped back to his chair looking smug. "We learned a great deal from you about interesting aircraft currently residing at Moffett. We learned the code name of Colonel Sheppard's Top Secret Project off the coast of San Francisco. All very useful information that, in time, we will be able to take advantage of."

"No," she gasped.

"Oh, yes. You see, Colonel Sheppard never even mentioned that you and he were – involved I believed was the word you used. I have to admit, considering how hard we tried to get information out of him, he knew his business. We've learned more from you in the last two hours than in all of Sheppard's sessions combined. I should have been much more skeptical when he did provide us with the codes, but he played his part very well. I only regret I did not get to kill him personally."

"No." She had nothing left. How could she have failed so utterly? How had John known?

"And now you will give us what we wanted to start with."

"You'll kill me anyway. Why should I help you?"

"I would really love to kill you, yes. This whole incident has cost us dearly. Your ex has disrupted years of work on the California corridor, from the moment he got involved with our submarine. But I will make this offer: You give us what we want, and I'll consider giving you to my good friend – Alfred, I believe the Colonel playfully calls him."

Nancy began to shake. Barrantes looked hurt, "A handsome man as he deserves a lovely woman to serve him? Very well, you can choose to live, or you can choose to die. You tell me the information and then you can choose which motive makes you talk. I'll kill you quickly should you wish it."

"Just kill me. I won't tell you anything." _John told me not to tell them anything. I can't save him now, but I can at least do that._

Barrantes moved so fast she hardly had a chance to flinch before he was in front of her. The violent slap on her cheek made her eyes water with the sting. Barrantes grabbed her face again, digging his fingers into her jaw with bruising force.

"The offer for a quick death only comes with what I want," he said, his voice low and menacing. "And I don't have much time."

"Please," she sobbed, sagging down the wall until Barrantes leaned into her belly to hold her up. He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her head back to face him.

"Make your choice."


	9. Chapter 9

**2 Hours Earlier – Maryland**

Grant Harrison punched the line closed on his cell phone and looked around the room at the crowd of Air Force, FBI and DEA agents surrounding him in his own living room. Their living room. The home he and Nancy had made together in five years of comfortable marriage.

"She says she wants me to come pick her up?" He announced into the anticipation.

His voice sounded nervous and he hated it. Especially when John was the one who responded first. His wife's ex looked like he'd lost a street fight with Sugar Ray Leonard. The man was sporting a black eye and split lip. His left sleeve was stained with dried blood all the way down to the rolled-up cuff and a filthy handkerchief was wrapped tightly around his bicep. The rest of what must have been a dress shirt was in little better shape, the light blue fabric creased, sweat-stained and splattered with more suspicious drops of blood.

"Did she say where she is?" John's voice was the breathy rasp of one nursing cracked ribs. Grant had boxed enough to recognize the look of someone unwilling to commit to a deep breath. Despite the weakness of volume, John's manner rang with command. Grant hastened to reply.

"She said Agent Barrantes has taken her to the Santa Rosa field office. That I should fly into SFO and meet her there." John made a chuff of vicious disgust.

"Did she say anything else?"

"She said that she was going to debrief with the FBI and then try to find…you. This Barrantes told her that you were injured and unable to answer questions. She's worried about you," he finished softly. It wasn't every day you looked another man in the eye and admitted that your wife wanted him.

A flicker of acknowledgement flashed over John's face before he turned to one of the men he'd brought with him.

"McKay? You get a trace on that call?"

"We got the cell it originated from. That still gives us a radius of five miles within incredibly dense population to search, though." Grant watched the man called McKay poke at some handheld device as he spoke.

"Santa Rosa?"

"No. San Rafael. Closer to San Francisco. Hence the 'incredibly dense population' I mentioned."

"I just called the Santa Rosa field office. They have no idea what we were talking about. Director Harrison's never been there. No one from that office was involved in the operation to extract you two." This came from Agent Carla Mason, one of the FBI babysitters who'd been with Grant since Nancy had been reported missing and the Cartel suspected.

The woman had been on the phone to her people since John's…team?...arrived to everyone's surprise. As far as Grant could tell, John's people – whoever his people were – had no need for mundane tools such as phones. They communicated directly with their sources through small headsets in their ears. He still couldn't figure out how they'd gotten from the West coast to the East coast so quickly after the rescue operation.

Mason had told him they were getting close and Grant had spent the wee hours of the morning in an anxious stupor, awaiting news. Any news. When it came, it wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. The compound had been secured, John had been extracted and Nancy was gone. Just gone.

John acknowledged Mason with a nod then waved at the FBI who were shockingly amenable to his command. That or they were still running with their tails tucked at Barrantes' double-cross. Grant knew he was an FBI agent who'd been involved in the rescue operations and that he'd somehow tipped off the cartel early enough for them to get Nancy out before John's people secured the compound. From the whispered conversations he'd overheard around him, they'd nearly been too late to save John.

"All right, then we head to San Rafael and start searching five miles of incredibly dense population. It sounds like Barrantes is leading her on and plans to interrogate her politely. At first anyway. We've got to find her before they give up being polite."

Grant looked around nervously as the group began to break up. The FBI agents were calling for their people to start coordinating with the local law enforcement. The DEA were calling on their own sources for any intel they had on the Cartel activity in San Rafael. Nancy would be so pleased with the interdepartmental cooperation, he thought bitterly. But where did that leave him?

John just looked ready to go as quickly as he'd come. He put his head together with McKay and the large man with dreadlocks for a moment.

"Harrison!" John bellowed at last. Grant looked at him, startled. People didn't usually shout at him by his last name.

"Uh, yes?"

"You're with us. If Nancy calls you again, I want you nearby."

"Yes. I'd like that. I'd like to be there as soon as you find her." He swallowed every ounce of pride he possessed to speak the words.

From the moment John had walked in the door and taken over the room, Grant knew that John was the one who would be able to rescue Nancy. The FBI hadn't done it. Grant couldn't do it. He was helpless, forced to put Nancy's life in John's hands and hope she would come home to him afterwards.

"I thought you would," John answered softly with a firm slap on his arm. Grant realized that the man meant it.

"So, do you have transportation or do I need to book a commercial flight to SFO?" He'd been fighting for two days to be allowed to go to San Francisco, but the FBI had wanted him to stay close to home in case the cartel happened to come around to watch him.

John grinned slightly, ignoring the suddenly severe looks of his two colleagues.

"Have we got transportation!"

"Sheppard, are you sure you want to bring this guy into the security clearance required…"

"Shut up, McKay. Contact the Deadalus. Tell them transport for four to San Rafael."

"Where in San Rafael?"

"I dunno. Go ask Agent Mason where her Agent in Charge is going to be."

"Fine."

McKay scurried off and John stood silently as they waited. The big man kept shooting worried looks at him and Grant wondered what other injuries he was nursing. He had obviously been through some kind of hell. The evidence of mistreatment only made Grant even more fearful for Nancy. John coughed, then swallowed hard as if suppressing another. He just hoped John could stay on his feet, for Nancy's sake.

"Why did they let Nancy call me?" he blurted out at last. "Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it means this Barrantes isn't all bad. Maybe he's on the Cartel payroll, but not one of them."

John closed his eyes and the big man's hand shot out to steady him as he swayed.

"No. It's not a good thing," John answered at last. "He let her call because he doesn't care if we find her. He thinks he can get what he needs faster by coddling her, and get it fast enough to beat us to her."

"Barrantes?"

"Amado Barrantes Carillo, SOB, is the local Don of the Juarez Carillo Drug Cartel that kidnapped us. He's been playing the FBI for years. He's the one who gave me my souvenirs." John placed a hand gingerly on his ribs. "This is all a game to him. Once he has what he wants then he'll…get rid of her."

"Oh, my God! John…"

"We'll get to her first."

Grant snapped his mouth shut at the growl in John's voice. The words had been more vow than reassurance. Grant shared the sentiment.

"I'll get my coat."

He dashed to the hall closet for his weekend jacket, darted into the bedroom for his wallet and found the house clearing out when he returned. The FBI and DEA were leaving by the front door and John, McKay and their big companion were waiting in a tight cluster in the middle of the den. He joined the circle.

"So where do we go from here?"

"San Rafael," John answered with one last curious look around his and Nancy's house. The intimate interest brought a flare of jealousy to Grant's chest before he could remind himself that John was the man who could help Nancy most. And that, like it or not, John was part of her past.

"I know San Rafael," Grant snapped, unable to completely squash the feeling, "How are we going to get there."

John threw a sideways look at McKay and smirked, "I really love this part," he told his friends.

"Never gets old," the big man agreed.

Grant was glaring at them all when John reached up to tap his earpiece.

"Deadalus, four to transport. Now."

"What?" was all Grant had to say before he was sucked into a blinding white light, and dropped into another room in another place.

"…was that?" he finished with a squeak.

"That is how we'll get to her first," John answered sounding as smug as he looked.

"I believe you," Grant breathed. And he did. But with the surge of hope and expectation in John's abilities, Grant realized the awful burden of that trust. "But…Colonel?"

"Hmmm?" John turned back, distracted by whatever he was planning to do next.

"If you don't get her back, I'll never forgive you."

John's eyebrows shot up, but Grant pressed on, deadly serious, the threat implied by his words and communicated man to man. He was no Special Forces assassin, but he'd boxed in college and knew how to fight for someone he loved. "Nancy means everything to me."

A lesser man would have laughed at Grant's pitiful ultimatum, but John just sized him up, then nodded.

"I'll watch my back," he said and there was no ridicule in his tone. "We'll get her."

"Be sure that you do."


	10. Chapter 10

An hour later, John had surrounded himself with some of the most frightening men Grant had ever been near. The squad of Marines appeared as if out of nowhere – which, he realized, they probably had. His own remarkable arrival was already almost forgotten amid the string of amazing events unfolding around him. A curly-haired, young black man joined them from the more mundane transportation of a black, government car and greeted John like an old friend, but Grant had never heard of the IOA that he claimed to represent.

For his part, Grant just shut up and stuck close to John. He was careful not to interfere or ask too many questions, but he was strict about keeping John in view. His belief that John was the key to rescuing Nancy grew deeper with each passing moment, and his ambiguity over what he should think about that grew with it. McKay, it appeared, had been assigned to him as nursemaid when he wasn't consulting on the search and Grant found the man usually within a few paces of him as time wore on.

John organized the whole affair from his casual perch on top of a picnic table in the courtyard of the San Rafael police station they'd taken over. Curious desk cops watched through windows and found excuses to loiter just outside the precinct door. Several from the station had been deployed into the streets to cruise for anything that might be suspicious – a rouge FBI helicopter perched on top of a building, for example.

Grant also noticed that while the FBI and DEA were involved, John's inner circle consisted of only his own people. The Agent in Charge was hardly doing more than relaying John's orders to the precinct. When the Marine strike force moved away from John's table in a cluster after having received some kind of instructions, Grant had a sudden thought. He turned to speak to McKay, but hesitated as he caught the man frowning deeply, studying something across the courtyard. Grant looked too and didn't see anything but John on the table, Ronon at his side, both of them talking to the IOA man.

"Will they use the transporter device to rescue Nancy?"

"Huh? Oh, depends on the situation. If she's alone and they can pinpoint her specifically – which is actually very difficult to do – then yes. Probably they'll go in, in force, instead."

"They?"

"The Marines and Sheppard…" McKay's voice trailed off, and this time, Grant's glance back at the table caught John's cough. It just wasn't right for something so simple to look like it hurt that much, and John wiped the hand he'd used to cover his mouth on his pants before he continued his conversation. Ronon turned his head and looked at McKay.

"Excuse me." McKay stepped away to speak into his radio headset and Grant kept his eyes nervously on John. His friends were worried about him, but he was the one who could save Nancy. Anxiety and curiosity pulled him closer to the group at the table and John waved him closer.

"We've narrowed the possible locations down to twelve buildings within range of the cell that Nancy's call came through," John told him.

"Ok," Grant didn't know what to add, but he was rather grateful John was taking the time to update him.

"All have rented office space and a roof that could land a helicopter briefly. DEA is going through the names on the leases, looking for Cartel links. We're going through all the security camera tapes in the area to look for the chopper, and the beat cops are asking around too."

"Do we go knock on the door of these twelve buildings?"

"No." John's answer was quick and Grant's thought of sounding useful died abruptly. "No, if we scare these guys before we're ready to take the whole building they'd have time to hurt her before we got there."

"Oh."

"I've got my people scanning those twelve buildings for whatever they can find out from a distance. Once we find them, we'll soak the place with scanner time. They won't get another chance to go underground once we…"

John's voice trailed off and a funny expression crossed his face.

"Sheppard?" Ronon rumbled. Grant was glad he wasn't the only one who was confused.

"Not underground. Under water!" John exclaimed with a look of triumph. "McKay! Fitzger!"

The Agent in charge and John's friend jogged over at the bellow, then waited tensely for John to suppress another cough he'd earned for the effort.

"McKay, the submarine – these guys are using a sub to bring dope up from Mexico, right?"

"You pulled it out of the water," McKay confirmed.

"They gotta bring the stuff to land somewhere. Are any of our twelve buildings on the coast, or a dock, or beach or…"

"Or somewhere the cartel might have close to the bay? I'm on it." He started poking furiously at the small device he kept with him at all times. Fitzger snapped his fingers with a thought.

"There are lots of docks in our target area on the San Rafael creek. It spills into the bay just north of the San Rafael bridge, but you'd never navigate a submarine through there, even a small one. Too murky, shallow and, I'm guessing, too crowded."

John just nodded, waiting for McKay.

"No. Sorry Sheppard. None of the targets we've narrowed down are within five or even six blocks of water."

"Damn," John cursed softly. "Agent Fitzger, send some people to this creek. Have them ask around. See if anyone local knows of the sub or saw a helicopter that flew in an hour ago."

"Got it," Fitzger had a calm professional manner, but John held him back with a glare. Grant had been getting the distinct impression that the FBI were low on John's list of people he trusted.

"Tell your people to tread lightly, agent. Keep them out of sight. Plainclothes only. We must not spook these guys and they're guaranteed to be looking out their windows."

"Got it," Fitzger said again, this time sounding grim. He headed quickly across the courtyard to his cluster of peers.

"I'll get the Deadalus to scan the creek, too," McKay added and wandered away, yet again talking into his headset. Whatever and wherever this Deadalus was, it was a vast resource for John's people.

"So what do we do?" Grant asked, caught up in a sudden surge of enthusiasm. He could feel the expectation in the air. All of John's resources were in play. He wanted to do something and help it all along.

"We wait," John answered dully.

"Good. Then you can let me check you out, lad, while you're waiting."

A brand new voice, utterly distinct in its pleasing cadence and cheerful tone, called out from behind Grant. John's expression seemed to vacillate between annoyance and pleasure before he settled on a nasty glare at Ronon. Ronon only glared back.

"I still hate you," John snarled then turned to the new arrival who was pushing his way close. "Hi, doc. Don't you have an infirmary to run or something?"

The man was wearing civilian clothing like the rest of them, but had a heavy black bag in his hand and another slung over his shoulder on a wide strap. John shook his hand and Grant recognized the gesture as deferential. Whoever this man was, he had some influence over John, despite their obvious familiarity.

"It's Jennifer's infirmary. I'm the field specialist now, remember?"

"Your specialty involves inoculating the wee babies, Carson."

"Not many of the wee babies in San Francisco need my help, thank the gods for that, so patching you up seemed like a fun way to spend my morning. Rodney told me you're hurting more than you're letting on, lad."

The doctor was setting down his gear and unzipping his bags even as he bantered. John glared at McKay who got suddenly very interested in something on his screen.

"I hate him too."

"He's worried about you." The doctor gave John a slow once over as he situated a stethoscope around his neck. "I'm worried too. Let's check out that cough. Have you noticed any blood?"

"I'm a little busy, here, doc."

"That'll be a yes. Rodney thought so. Take as deep a breath as you can, but don't push it. You don't need to hurt yourself for this."

Grant thought he should give the Colonel some privacy as his doctor friend gently persuaded him to accept a rudimentary checkup, but he couldn't force himself away. Part of his fascination was concern – John did truly look like he needed some help – but part of it was pure, lizard-brain curiosity. Grant was checking out the competition, seeing what kind of man Nancy had chosen once. If he'd been hoping for John to be arrogant, selfish and stupid, he was finding himself disappointed on that score…so far.

He stepped closer as the doctor finished and spoke in a low voice. This man was the one who would save Nancy, Grant had an interest in his ability to do so.

"John, that rib has got to be dealt with. You're already displaying evidence of internal bleeding. You push it, the lung will collapse, and that will nae do you nor your lovely Nancy any good."

Grant felt a flush of heat. _She's MY Nancy_, he wanted to bellow and he opened his mouth to protest when John beat him to it.

"Your intel is out of date, doc. This is Nancy's husband, Grant Harrison. Harrison, tell the doc to lay off so I can finish my job and leave you the hell alone."

"Uh…" was all Grant managed before the doctor rolled his eyes with exaggerated embarrassment.

"Och, well I've put my foot in it, haven't I. I'm Carson Beckett. I'm sure you're mighty concerned right now. We all are of course. But don't you worry, lad. Colonel Sheppard's got the whole city turned out. If anyone can find her, he can."

"Carson," John's voice was suddenly low with warning and the doctor reddened and began babbling nervously.

"By city, I mean San Francisco. Wouldn't mean anything else. Of course you know I meant that city... Has he got clearance?"

"I appreciate everything your people are doing for Nancy," Grant said when it became clear the doctor was flustered beyond making any sense.

"It's my job to do everything I can for you, John," Beckett turned back to his patient at last. Grant wondered how such an oddly distractible man could have ever become a doctor. "You're losing blood internally, and that rib isn't going to stabilize itself."

"Just patch me up. We've only got a little time to do this right." The doctor started to protest once more and John's hand shot out to land firmly on Beckett's shoulder. "I'm not leaving, Carson."

To his credit, Carson held John's intimidating glare longer than Grant would have given the jittery man credit for, but a kind of truce must have been reached. Carson nodded, began rummaging in his bag again.

"Then I'll dress your arm and start an IV for as long as you can sit here. We can at least top off a bit of what's leaking into your lungs."

"Thanks."

"Take off your shirt. I've brought you a clean one with short sleeves."

This time, Grant did walk away to let the man change and get his bloody arm mopped up. He knew he'd hate to have strangers watching him. John was so unconcerned about the whole thing, he'd almost decided that the doctor must be prone to dramatics and that John was used to taking dire warnings with a grain of salt. At least he thought that until an idle glance back at the picnic table stunned him into rude staring.

John was pulling the fresh black t-shirt over his head; the blue dress shirt lay in a soggy crumpled pile next to him. He was moving very carefully, timidly lifting his arms into the sleeves. Grant could understand why. John's entire torso was a greenish, mottled mess. The left half of his ribcage was almost black with streaks of deep bruising.

"Holy cow," someone said softly next to him and Grant realized that McKay had followed him as he wandered and was also staring at John.

"How is that man still conscious?" Grant wanted to know. He couldn't imagine the kind of beating it would have taken to inflict that much damage.

"High threshold for pain," McKay muttered, but his tone was sarcastic.

With a sudden, violent wave of despair, Grant began to feel weak. He sat heavily onto the edge of a stone garden wall and buried his face in his hands. The people that had taken Nancy had done that to John. It was a brutality that even he recognized as calculating and cruel for cruelty's sake. The thought of Nancy – of her being tortured in that way, in ways even worse…

"Don't give up on her yet." Grant lifted his head to find McKay watching him as worriedly as he'd been watching John. "Don't give up. We're working really hard."

"I know. I just don't know if it will be enough."

"You don't know Sheppard," McKay said firmly, "it will be enough."

"Of course I don't know him. He's my wife's ex for crying out loud! Why the hell should I have any interest in knowing him?" He found himself shouting the words, overwhelmed and irrationally annoyed that everyone he'd met in the last hour kept telling him how great John was, even while he was desperately hoping it was true.

"Were you surprised they were out together?"

McKay's frank curiosity startled Grant out of the brief flare of jealousy. "No," he sighed. "She called me after the meeting two days ago. She told me she was taking him to dinner. I told her to go. She carries a lot of...regret from that relationship, and I thought it might be a good chance for her to find some closure. I rather hoped he'd remind her of what an arrogant, insensitive bastard he really was," he admitted with equal frankness.

"I'm reminded of that daily," McKay deadpanned and Grant chuckled.

"He seems…likable." _In a formidable sort of way_, Grant added to himself privately.

"He does have that nice thing going for him. And the whole good looks, hero complex can get really annoying. But you don't have to worry about Sheppard."

"I'm not worried," Grant snapped, a little too quickly, and then to cover his slip, "Why? Is he with someone?"

"No, but he does have a remarkable ability to put the past behind him. I've never met anyone who can just…get on with it like he does." McKay sounded half exasperated by the trait he seemed to find admirable about his friend. "Me, I prefer to wallow." He looked over at John in worry again before he was called away by Fitzger.

Grant sat on the wall unable to suppress a sense of cold loss sinking into his gut that chilled him from the inside out. Since he'd gotten the call from the FBI at 2:00 in the morning the night Nancy had been kidnapped, every hour that they didn't find a body or receive a gloating call from the cartel was good news. Now, too much time was passing, too quickly.

The other agents and police who were involved in the case kept looking at their watches. When he caught them starting to look his way with sympathetic glances, he began to shake with fury. He felt the minutes slipping through his fingers, leaving behind burning scars as they fell out of reach.

"Sheppard! We've got it!"

Grant leaped to his feet and shoved his way into the gathering crowd around John where the mood thickened into nearly unbearable tension. He elbowed aside an agent to get close to John and didn't even twitch at the glare he received. John was shifting a bag of saline that rested on his shoulder and leaned to look at the device McKay was shoving at him.

"You were right. They're on the water. FBI interviewed a couple of shopkeepers on the San Rafael creek who heard a helicopter buzz the area at 6:00 this morning, just as we gained control of the compound. Barrantes got her out before we put our Marines on the ground."

"Where? What kind of building?" Sheppard gave a quick nod and the squad of heavily geared Marines jogged over to join the group. The locals moved aside nervously to let them in.

"It's a five story apartment complex. DEA says the owner of the building comes up with red flags based on the newest intel coming out of the Napa compound. But even better – Deadalus aerial survey shows that there is a private, covered boat dock that belongs to the complex, and it's completely empty. Pretty strange to have 30 premium apartments on the water and not let anyone park their boats there."

Sheppard was nodding and Grant felt his insides twist. It was a good lead. It sounded right to him. They were so close…

"Residential, huh? How many people in the building?"

"At the moment, Deadalus is getting about 75 people. Most are still home for the weekend. They're doing detailed scans as we speak to map exactly where everyone is. Here it comes," McKay interrupted, yanking away the device John was studying to watch whatever new data was appearing. There was absolute silence in the courtyard.

"There." John touched a finger to the display, presumably pointing at some diagram or map of the building. Grant could only imagine the technology they were utilizing at that moment.

"You think so?" McKay didn't look so convinced but Agent Fitzger's voice called out before he had a chance to rebut, one hand still holding an open phone.

"Top floor is penthouse office space. Reverse lookup lists suite 504 as the Tijuana Travel Agency."

John jammed his finger onto the screen and thumped it soundly. "There," he said firmly and handed it to one of the Marines to look at. "Agent Fitzger, coordinate the local PD for a quick blockade around the whole area. Call the Coast Guard, don't let any boats in or out either. Me and my team will go in in…7 minutes to secure the hostage. We'll sit on the top floor until you catch us up and secure the rest of the building."

"Ok, but how - ?"

"Don't ask Agent. We'll be there first. I'll give you a 7 minute head start."

Fitzger grinned with the anticipation that was beginning to saturate the space and jerked an arm at his team, dispersing orders even before they were through the precinct doors. The Marine handed John the device back and pointed.

"We put two here, one here, one here. You and Ronon pick your spot, sir."

"I go there. Put Ronon there," John answered with two more pokes. Ronon looked closely at John before he nodded his agreement. "Rodney, you take Harrison and ride over with Agent Fitzger. We'll have her by then or we won't. Either way, I know he'll want to be there."

"Damn right I do," Harrison said, loudly enough to earn a slight twitch of a grin from John.

"Four minutes, people."

The courtyard broke up into noisy chattering groups. Grant was hustled towards the precinct by McKay, but he kept stalling, trying to keep his eye on John. He had an irrational need to make sure John was going to go through with it. John yanked the IV needles out of his own arm, and rapidly strapped on a bulletproof vest and side arm holster. One of the marines handed him two hand guns. John loaded a bullet into the chamber of each, holstered one and shoved the other into the vest against his chest.

McKay finally grabbed Grant's arm and physically began to pull him towards the FBI cars and he caught a last look of John as he was jogging towards the neighboring alley with Ronon and the Marines. John's expression was determined and calm. He ran as if he had never heard about internal bleeding and broken ribs. He flicked Grant a single, unreadable look and then he was gone, around the corner and out of sight where Grant knew that miraculous transportation beam would sweep him up and take him into the enemy's lair.

"Let's go," Grant snapped at McKay, striding ahead and pulling him along now, instead. He'd never felt so scared, no so hopeful about anything in his life. John would have her or he wouldn't. He'd made it sound so simple. For Grant, it was so much more. His life would be over or it wouldn't. Everything he cared about would be there, or it wouldn't.

And every moment of his entire future depended on a man who loved his wife as much as he did. If Grant Harrison had learned anything about John Sheppard in the past hour, it was that. Despite McKay's assertion about his having moved on, Grant had seen it in the man's eyes. Perhaps it was a look he alone could recognize.

"Let's go," Grant whispered to himself again.


	11. Chapter 11

"Give me the passwords."

"I don't…I can't…" Nancy flinched as another slap left a raw sting on her cheek, but Barrantes let go of her hair and stalked away to pace angrily beside the desk.

"Damn Sheppard! I should have had him killed in front of you at the warehouse."

"You killed him," she whispered, her voice choked with sobs. It was all she could think of. It was all she had to maintain her defiance and Barrantes seemed to know it.

"Not quickly enough," he snarled and Nancy flinched again, but the blow never landed.

"A.B., we've got movement at the precinct. Our guy across the street says FBI is busting out of there like cockroaches from a trash can. They've made us. We got to go!" The smuggler or drug runner or accountant, for all Nancy knew, poked his head through the door. He kept shooting anxious glances towards the exit of the small office.

"Have you wiped all the hard drives and shredded all the papers?"

"Si."

"It will still take them twenty minutes to get here, if they even have the right place. Get ready to set the fires."

"Okay, man, but I say we do it soon. Leave the bitch to burn if you ask me."

He was gone before Barrantes fixed a cold, appraising glare on Nancy and answered, "I didn't. I think you still have more to tell me. We can continue this at a more leisurely pace later. I'm sure that you will love my home in Mexico."

She moaned in terror with the rush of understanding, "No, I won't go with you! I won't tell you anything. Just let me go. Please just let me go."

Barrantes ignored her to pull a handgun out of his belt, he checked the chamber, then gestured at her with a jerk of the weapon, "Come here."

"No."

Barrantes cocked the gun and aimed the muzzle at her face. "Come. Here."

A flash of memory consumed her – John crying out as Alfred's gun exploded in the tiny room. "You killed him, you killed him!" She was mad with terror. She wouldn't go with them. If they got her out of the country, there would be no hope. She'd be tortured, or taken as a slave. They would kill her sooner or later.

Barrantes cursed in Spanish and crossed the distance to snatch for her arm. She fought him. She wrenched out of his hand and pressed into the corner, bracing herself. For a moment longer he wrestled with her, then slapped her hard again. She buried her face in her hands and slid down the wall to huddle in a small ball. Barrantes hovered over her breathing hard with fury.

"We're ready, A.B. Raphael just got here with the boat. Let's get the hell out man."

Through her hands, Nancy could feel Barrantes go still. "We're coming. Bring me a hit of heroin to knock her out," he said and the confidence of his statement froze her heart. When he grabbed for her this time, there was no hesitation or consideration. His fingers bit into her arm with bruising cruelty and he twisted his other hand into her hair, pulling her up with brute force. She tried to stay limp, to sag back into the ground, but he got an arm around her waist and held her tightly against him, her feet hardly bearing any of her own weight.

He began to drag her away with ridiculous ease. His arms and chest against her were hard with wiry muscle, and she gasped at the pressure on her chest. She pushed futilely against his arm around her. Barrantes just squeezed tighter and she began to gasp when a man joined them and held out a syringe. They would drug her like they'd drugged John. She couldn't fight them. She'd wake up in Mexico and they'd never find her.

With a strength born of terror, she struggled madly and Barrantes cursed, just inside the door to the interrogation room. His arm slipped and he snatched for her with the other arm, holding her around her waist with both hands as she jerked and writhed.

"Shoot her up!" Barrantes snarled, swinging her to the side so the man had a better angle at her arm. She watched the smuggler tap the syringe, lift it towards her. Barrantes had her hands pinned. Her wrists burned as she twisted in the grip. "Jesus, hurry it up!"

But the man hesitated, and looked over his shoulder, distracted by some motion behind him. Nancy saw a flash brighten the room through the door, like someone had just taken a picture.

"Get down! Get down! Everyone down!" a male voice bellowed and there was a sudden explosion of shouting, screaming and gunfire. The man with the syringe lunged for a gun in his belt and then jerked in unnatural spasm. He crumpled to the floor at her feet and she saw a small hole centered neatly on his breast pocket. The edges of the hole turned red.

Barrantes flung himself into the wall beside the door and shifted one arm to encircle her throat. With the other he pulled out the gun. She tugged at his arm unable to cry out, hardly able to breathe so tightly was he constricting her neck. The yelling through the door increased in volume and violence.

"You bitch," Barrantes breathed into her ear and squeezed even tighter. "You will never make it out of this room alive. I swear you will join your Colonel in hell."

She gasped for air and gagged at the pressure on her throat. Barrantes had her back to his chest as he pressed against the wall, peering out the door. Another flash bathed the tiny room around her. When Nancy had blinked away the spots, a soldier was standing beside the table she'd sat at for so long. The man was wearing an elaborate vest of some sort and a holster on his hip. A knife dangled from the belt at his side which was all Nancy could see. He looked skyward briefly, then spun towards the door, raising his own gun and aiming it straight at her and Barrantes.

"You?" she heard Barrantes gasp.

"I told you you were in over your head," replied the soldier with a breathy, not-at-all concerned and _holy-shit!_ familiar voice. It was his voice that brought her recognition, and she tried to call to him, but no sound escaped through her constricted throat. Her mind was screaming his name. _John! John had come back for her._

The yelling through the door was getting louder. John took a step closer, his gun never wavering from Barrantes face. The smuggler heaved her higher, protecting more of himself and John stopped when she gasped at the tighter pressure. She was feeling dizzy and little black spots were swimming at the edges of her vision.

"Let her go, Barrantes. You're done here. Let her go and I might let you live _with_ both your kidneys."

Barrantes swore a streak of Spanish profanity, "You will pay, Sheppard. I swear you will pay for your interference."

"Let her go," John repeated his voice dropping to a deadly growl. He cocked his gun for emphasis. There was a scuffle behind her in the door. John's expression tightened and he called out a hasty, "Hold your fire!"

A sudden, eerie silence fell. Nancy saw John's eyes flick towards the door beside them and his gun wavered, as if he were undecided about his target. Barrantes chuckled, sounding manic.

"I will let her go at the boat dock. You will let me and my…remaining…men board, and then you can have the bitch."

Barrantes pushed himself away from the wall and turned slightly so that Nancy could see the standoff that had developed. Two of the smugglers were standing in the doorframe, facing down a row of heavily armored soldiers, their backs turned to Barrantes who was holding his own gun on John. And Nancy was dead center in the crossfire. She heard the creak of heavy fabric and of men breathing through the thick tension.

"You'd never even make it to the bay. Let her go now and save yourself the false sense of accomplishment."

"I'll risk it," Barrantes said. Nancy sagged further as her feet started to tingle. She clawed again at his arm but couldn't release the pressure. "Now tell your men to back off and let us through." He slowly turned his gun and pressed the barrel against Nancy's skull. There was no need to say _or else_. Nancy coughed, her breath choked by tears as much as the viscous grip.

John's eyes went narrow and for an instant he was looking into her face, holding her gaze. _Hold still. Trust me. Please. _He said nothing, but his eyes communicated as clearly as if he'd shouted.

John looked back at Barrantes and she saw, as if in slow motion, his gun hand pivot three degrees to his right. Without taking his eyes from Barrantes, John fired twice into the backs of the smugglers facing the soldiers. Nancy felt Barrantes startle, then gasp in rage and surprise. She felt the cold metal against her temple bounce and his shoulders working. She could feel his indecision as John's gun slowly tracked last towards him. Would he use the gun to defend himself and try to shoot John? Or would he get his revenge and pull the trigger on her head first to spite him?

Barrantes at last flung his own weapon out, away from her and his hold on her slipped ever so slightly. He tried to level the weapon, tried to fire before John found his mark. John was faster. With the third deafening blast of gunfire, Barrantes grip on her neck vanished and she fell forward onto her knees, gasping for air and gagging.

A final blast snapped her gaze upwards. _No!_ she screamed inwardly as John staggered back three steps at the impact of Barrantes' dying shot. The pocket over his left chest exploded with a little puff of ragged fabric. Behind her, Barrantes slid down the wall and fell to the ground with a lifeless flop.

John dropped his arm to let his own weapon hang at his side. He sank onto the desk and gripped the edge tightly as if he were in danger of sliding onto the floor. Murmurs and movement suddenly started again, as if his release of tension had flicked a switch. Someone touched her and she recognized the warm rumble of Ronon's distinctive voice as he pulled her gently to her feet then moved to John's side.

"We're clear Sheppard. That's all of them. Lt. Zander got their guy at the dock."

Nancy just stood there.

"Good," John answered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Hold…the…level…"

"Fitzger and McKay will be here any minute. Let me check you out."

Nancy took a couple shaky steps. John was sagging heavily on one arm braced against the desktop; the other he clutched tightly to his chest. Ronon clucked and brushed his hand over the hole in John's vest, then thumped him worriedly on the arm. He began to tug on the vest zipper.

"What made you think you could take all three before one of them got a shot off at you?" He was watching John's face carefully and he frowned when John winced at the movement.

"I…got…them…all…first…" he managed.

"First, but not fast enough."

"I…was…fast…enough…" John whispered and he looked at Nancy, relief written so deeply written in his eyes that she finally found her feet moving and flung herself around his neck.

"I thought you were dead," she sobbed with tears of gratitude. "He told me you were dead. I was so scared and I thought you were dead."

John leaned against her and buried his face in her neck. She could feel him shaking and every breath was loud with crackles and gurgles. She tried to push him away to look at him, but he leaned harder, and then she was holding most of his weight as he slipped forward, towards the edge of the desk. Ronon cursed and grabbed for an arm, also trying to keep John from falling.

"I…told…you…to wait…for me," he gasped softly in her ear. His breath hitched and his voice broke ever so slightly. "I…asked… you…to…"

"Oh, John…" she cried, clinging to him, but he spoke no more and went limp against her, his full weight toppling forward.

"Sheppard!" Ronon snatched and caught John in a bear hug and lowered him gently to the floor. His lips were turning dark, and he was gasping as if there were no air in the room.

"He was shot," she said, only just remembering. She didn't want to remember.

"Yeah, his Kevlar stopped it, but it's still a hell of a jolt and he was already broken up inside. His lung has probably collapsed."

"Oh, god."

"Stay with him," Ronon said firmly after settling John upright against the desk and unzipping the vest completely. And then he was gone. She heard him yelling at the soldiers who had come with them, followed by the clicks and hisses of radio conversation.

John thrashed weakly and clutched at his chest. He wasn't breathing right. He was hardly breathing at all. Nancy stroked his head.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't die," she pleaded. He'd come back from the dead to save her. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him again.

Ronon reappeared after only a few minutes. She looked at him desperately as he checked John's pulse, then slapped him lightly on the cheek. His face was pale and sickly blue.

"Come on, Sheppard. Beckett'll be here any minute. Don't give up on us yet you lazy bastard."

When they came as Ronon promised, it happened all at once. A crowd of people rushed into the room and Nancy felt a wash of relief that was almost painful – as if the inundation of grief and fear and doubt had cut so deeply that all of her feelings rubbed against nerve-raw wounds. A civilian carrying first aid bags and wearing a stethoscope dropped quickly beside John, muttering something that sounded a lot like "I told you so."

She moved aside a little to let the doctor or paramedic spread his things out, then moved a little more as another man pushed himself close to crouch by John's side. It took her a moment to recognize him as John's friend McKay.

"Give me some space here," the doctor ordered after a hasty listen through the stethoscope. His face was grim. The crowd jostled and Nancy was pulled further from John. She fought to keep her place. The doctor was yanking tubes and bags of saline out of his kit with frantic competence and handing them to Ronon and McKay who were unmovable from John's side.

"Ma'am, could you come with me, please?" said a voice at her shoulder and she flinched at the sudden touch on her arm that kept trying to pull her away from John. She looked around, startled that there were so many more people in the room. It was too much. "Forgive me. I'm Agent Fitzger, FBI. Could we ask you some questions please?"

Nancy began to shake and backed away from him. She wasn't going anywhere she couldn't see John. Fitzger looked puzzled, but sympathetic which only heightened her panic. She'd done this before. She didn't know who to trust. She looked wildly at Ronon and McKay for help, but they were completely devoted to their care for John.

"Let me THROUGH!" another familiar voice bellowed.

A moment later she was tackled and yanked into a desperate embrace. She fought for just a moment until she recognized the feel of the arms around her.

"Oh, god, Nancy. Are you alright? Please tell me you're alright."

Grant's voice was choked with tears and his body shuddered against her. She felt her own chest tighten and buried herself in him. Violent, heaving sobs overwhelmed her at last and she wept until she was weak. Grant stroked her hair and kept murmuring into her ear.

"Get these people out of here!" bellowed a voice that was bordering on controlled panic.

"John!" she whispered, then twisted in Grant's arms to look for him. Fitzger was shoving people out of the room, and the doctor was pulling on gloves. He reached for a scalpel and Nancy saw him lower it to John's exposed side where it was black with bruising. A long length of plastic tubing was at the ready to drain the fluids that were compressing his lungs.

"Nancy, we need to leave. Let the doctor work." Grant's voice was gentle and low.

"No, I can't leave him. He saved my life."

Grant sucked in a breath that sounded like a gasp of pain. His arms tightened around her. She looked into his face and saw sorrow, understanding, regret, determination all mixed together.

"Let's go. Let's go home, Nancy. It's over. You can go home now. It's over."

She felt dizzy, lightheaded, and she swooned, stumbling against Grant. He bent and scooped her into his arms then carried her out of the room.

_Don't Give Up_

_You left me_

_I loved you_

_I asked you to wait for me_

She hadn't waited.

"It's over," she whispered.


	12. Chapter 12

Grant stood over the railing of the raised patio and looked out at the grey rippling waters of San Francisco Bay. The mild summer breeze kicked up a scent of saltwater and fish from the markets down the street, but not too much. Pier 51 was one of San Francisco's busiest tourist destinations and it wouldn't do for the shoppers and vacationers to be inconvenienced. It was early, before the lunch rush, and the cafe Grant was sitting in was nearly empty. The rest of Ghiradelli square was buzzing with morning shoppers, most of them boasting t-shirts or hats with the city's name or images of the Golden Gate bridge.

He could not, for the life of him, figure out why a man as obviously well traveled as John Sheppard would pick the most touristy spot in the city to meet. It made no difference to Grant, but he was curious. He'd asked John to meet, he didn't care where.

"Harrison!"

Grant turned at his name and shook his head, amused. He would never get used to people calling him by his last name. In the law profession, using one's first name exclusively was the polite way to pull rank. He got his first hint of John's reasoning when he saw the Air Force Colonel walking lightly up the steps into the Square followed by Ronon, McKay and a beautiful young woman with long copper hair. They were all dressed in casual clothing, John and Ronon in jeans and golf shirts, the woman in slacks and an exotic blouse. McKay was wearing cargo pants and a long-sleeve t-shirt that somehow looked completely awkward on him. Grant glanced down at his own slacks and dress shirt and suddenly felt very much like a lawyer. The last time he'd seen John, he'd been bristling with weapons and clothed in armor.

"John."

Grant greeted the arrivals warmly and shook hands with the men and allowed John to introduce the woman as Teyla. She had a remarkable air of confidence about her, of a personal nature and also within the crowd of very powerful men she found herself. This was a woman who was used to holding her own.

"I promised Teyla I'd take her to Ghiradelli's before she leaves, so we decided to make it a team outing," John added to the introductions.

"You decided," McKay muttered, managing to look grumpy and pleased all at the same time. "I've got a month's worth of work backed up in the labs and you dragged us out here to shop for a sense of nostalgia."

"And chocolate," Teyla added emphatically. John just ignored them, but his eyes were smiling.

"I go back on active duty next week. This was my last chance to play hooky for a while."

"From your research off the coast?"

John shrugged. Grant waited, but John offered nothing more.

"Shall we sit?"

"Yeah, I'm coming. Meet you guys at the ice cream shop. I'm buying." The team waved goodbye and Grant could hear their conversation as they wandered into the courtyard lined with shops and food.

"He's just saying that so we'll wait for him. Ten bucks says he weasels out of the bill." McKay said.

"Then I have ten bucks more to spend on chocolate."

"And if you lose?"

"Then I will require John to buy me ten bucks of chocolate."

"You do know they're called dollars, don't you….?"

John laughed and threw Grant a self-conscious grin, "She means it. I'd better pay up."

"I believe you," Grant agreed and moved towards a patio table. John followed, hands in his pockets. "She is part of your team, too?" He had assumed as much about McKay and Ronon. Although he really had no idea what kind of team they actually were, or what they did on a regular basis. _Research_ didn't quite seem to summarize his work adequately.

"Yeah. She can kick butt and take names, _and_ get the surliest of villagers eating out of her hand within three cups of tea. She was coordinating the search efforts from our base of operations during the search and rescue. She and McKay put the final pieces together that led them to the smugglers' Napa compound."

"Then I owe them as sincere a debt of gratitude as I owe you."

John busied himself with getting settled in his chair, shrugging off the praise. Grant noticed that even though three weeks had passed, John lowered himself into his seat carefully and leaned back with a practiced caution. "You said she's leaving?"

"She's going back to her home, soon." His eyes flicked towards the courtyard towards the group that was still in sight.

"Ah. Will she be leaving your team permanently?"

"I sure hope not. But for now, it's a one way trip and it seems likely."

"You'll miss her," Grant said, summing up John's tone of voice.

"Yeah. But she misses her son. She needs to go home."

"I see." Grant left the topic there as a waiter came by to deliver tiny cups of bitter coffee. John reached stiffly for the cup. "Are you recovering well from your injuries?"

He and Nancy had sat long hours at the SF field office waiting for news after John's frightening collapse in the smuggler's lair. They hadn't been allowed to see him, but his superior – a Mr. Woolsey – had come by personally to reassure them than John had, and would, survive. Grant noticed that his face still had the pale, pinched thinness of someone who'd been recently ill.

"Only hurts when I breathe. Doc signed me off for duty, though."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Grant waited and John fidgeted. "How…How's Nancy?" he asked at last, then looked at Grant with a failed expression of nonchalance. "She won't take my calls."

Grant took a deep breath, and leaned back. "She's going through a tough time. What she went through has shattered her sense of security in the world, and it's taking time to get that back. She won't get in a cab for anything," he added with a rueful chuckle.

"Why am I here, Harrison?" John demanded softly at last.

"I asked you to meet because I…I need to know what to do for her."

"I don't understand."

"You were with her during the ordeal. And I got the impression that you have been in difficult situations before and know how to deal with post trauma stress. You can help me understand." He'd been thinking a lot about McKay's comment in the past weeks. How did one simply "get on with it" after something like this?

"Nancy said you were some kind of psychologist before you went into law. You know more about it than I do."

"I've an understanding on paper. I never practiced counseling. And more than being a soldier who understands what she's going through, I know you care about her. You know who she is and what she needs."

John fiddled with his fingers on the table. Grant wasn't sure if he was considering an answer or trying to evade it. He decided to press. He'd convinced himself he was here to help Nancy, but he knew he had his own questions that needed answering.

"Something else happened during the kidnapping, didn't it? Something between you two."

John looked genuinely startled and raised his hands defensively. "Hell no! I was a little too preoccupied with the whole getting the crap beaten out of me to hit on your wife, Harrison." His tone was tinged with anger.

"She was your wife."

"Not anymore. I…lost that a long time ago."

"She's grieving, John. She's grieving for you. Something happened that has made her question her feelings for you."

John flung himself back in his chair, and scrubbed the back of his hair furiously. Grant was psychologist enough to recognize him struggling with extreme discomfort. Despite all his bravery, John was a man who rarely tackled personal matters, he realized. Observing the flaw was almost a relief. When he did speak again, John sounded sharp, determined.

"You have to understand that when people are in an intense situation like we were, you depend on each other for your lives. She may not have realized it, but I needed her there as much as she needed me. Stuff gets all weird and it can mess with your head if you don't know what's going on."

He paused and Grant just waited, bracing himself for whatever John had to say.

"After you do that a few times, you learn to figure out what's real, and what's not. I can understand if she's confused. Hell, I wanted to marry my buddy Larry the first time we slogged our way out of a busted op in Afghanistan." He grinned, attempting to lighten the conversation. "That one took less time to figure out."

Grant forced a smile. "But you do care for her. And she for you."

"Sure. I loved the hell out of her. And she would be the first to tell you that that isn't enough."

Grant realized the subtle deflection John had employed. He'd answered in the past, carefully leaving his current feelings neutral. It was both maddening and reassuring. At the very least, for the first time since he'd watched John walk into the room and take over Nancy's rescue, Grant believed that John truly had no intentions to revive a relationship. With the wave of relief came a slow crawl of chagrin.

"It may not be enough to make a marriage, John, but it went a long way towards saving her life." Grant said, calling his bluff. He still believed that John cared more deeply than he would admit.

John leaned forward and put his hand on the table, surprising Grant with his intensity. "How long have you been married?"

"Coming up on five years."

"Look, you're already a lot better at it than I ever was, or ever could be. You wanted to know what to do for her? Just be there. Be with her. She's tough. She'll snap out of it in time and remember that I was the sonabitch who didn't love her enough to put her first. You can give her what I couldn't. What I'd never be able to…"

"She does seem to need a lot of reassurance." He would never say so to John, but her demands for proof of his devotion had even been an issue for them from time to time. It was a trait that was fading with time and maturity in their relationship, and Grant had honestly blamed John for her neediness.

"And she needs it now more than ever."

"I'll do that. I can do that."

John's observation had helped him understand that Nancy's current feelings were charged with the heightened intensity of the kidnapping. Grant had found the hope he'd been looking for that, in time, Nancy would turn to him fully again. He intended to take John's advice to heart and show her how much he needed her, too.

"And you think she'll get over you again?" Grant asked with humor and relief.

"I think she'll figure out what's real and what's not," John answered softly.

He looked away and Grant followed his gaze to spot the team of friends leaving a store burdened with packages. Ronon was menacing Teyla with a large stuffed animal and even the carefully fractious Dr. McKay was grinning. Grant leaned forward with a sudden insight and John watched him warily as he found himself staring.

"You let her go. Didn't you? When you and Nancy separated, you left overseas and gave her up because you knew she was unhappy." Perhaps Grant's suggestion was born out of a false sense of admiration for this man who had saved his wife's life, but the idea reconciled his observations about John's depth of caring. He'd let Nancy go, just like he would let Teyla leave his team so she could be with her son. But John scoffed, shaking his head in violent negation.

"You give me more credit than I'm worth, Harrison. When she left me, I was messed up. She hurt me and my father took her side. I broke ties with my family. I ran, I took off. Believe me, the last thing on my mind was altruism."

"Right." Grant said neutrally. He would keep his opinions to himself. "Well, I've kept you too long. It seems your team is enjoying their day off and you should join them." He could tell that John desperately wanted to join them, to simply get on with it as McKay had told him he would do.

Grant rose and waited for John to gingerly push himself to his feet as well. He offered his hand and John returned the shake firmly. He was about to murmur a farewell when John fidgeted and scrubbed the back of his neck again. Grant just waited, giving him time to work up his courage, curious about what John was finding hard to say.

"Honestly, I don't know how long I'll be around either. I won't be able to check up on Nancy much, in the best of cases. Just…promise me you'll take care of her?"

"I promise," Grant answered with fervor. And then, because he couldn't resist and because he thought John would appreciate the sentiment he added, "I can't say I'm sorry she left you, John. I feel like I got the better deal."

John chuckled and slapped Grant on the arm. "Fair enough." He looked again at his team, then added, "but I haven't done so badly, either."

Grant watched until John had caught up with his friends. Teyla eagerly showed him her purchases and then grabbed him by the arm to pull him with little courtesy towards the Ghiradelli chocolate and ice cream shop. He wondered why such normal looking friendship seemed so extraordinary in John's case. With a little more thought, he had his answer by the time he'd walked down the street and had flagged a cab back to the airport.

He had seen John's team manipulate incredible technologies (a fact that had earned him hours of non-disclosure agreements). He'd seen the aftermath of the combat John and Ronon had walked into with competence and courage. He remembered his own utter sense of helplessness in a terrifying situation he had no hope of influencing while John executed a successful rescue operation suffering from life-threatening injuries. He couldn't even imagine what they experienced on a daily basis.

John and his people were extraordinary, in the purest sense of the word.

Grant would go home to his ordinary home, toil at his ordinary yet satisfying work, and take care of his brilliant and passionate and utterly ordinary wife. Nancy might regret what she'd lost for a while, but Grant wouldn't have it any other way.

And deep down, in the part of John Sheppard that still cared for Nancy more than he'd admit, Grant knew that John would agree.

_A/N: Just a couple comments – #1 Thanks for reading._

_If you happen to be heading to the Chicago Stargate Convention in August, look me up! Would love to say Hi and put some faces to some names. Just shout "T'Pring!" and I'll answer if I'm within earshot. Seriously, I will. I doubt there will be too many others to confuse me with. If there are any other T'Pring's out there, I'd love to say hi to you too. Ha!_

_The restaurant in Mt. View where Nancy took Shep is called Chez TJ, you can google it and see the house on sat. view. Hubby says it's a chick place, so I was glad it was Nancy who'd picked. Hey, she was buying!_


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